


Shade and Light

by Ladylizaelliott



Series: In Her Shadow [1]
Category: The Woman in White - Webber/Zippel/Jones, The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
Genre: F/M, The Woman in White Book, The Woman in White Musical, The Woman in White Television Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 05:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13093692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladylizaelliott/pseuds/Ladylizaelliott
Summary: A chance reunion between the Count and (a former) Miss Halcombe reopens the past and puts forward more questions than answers. Who is the child at Marian’s side?  In a last stalemate between enemies, Marian unveils unknown secrets and recounts the last five years after the conspiracy that changed their lives forever.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters involved with this story were the creations of the genius Wilkie Collins from the Victorian classic The Woman in White. However, this project, which was years in the making, was truly born from attending two performances of the London production of Andrew Lloyd Webber's adaptation of The Woman in White from book to musical. A fairly large amount of the text has appeared published on Fanfiction.net years back under the story titled Shade and Light, but this version has been reworked and only portions of it remain unedited from that first publishing. What it has turned into now, is a love letter to as many incarnations of The Woman in White I could lay my hands on (1948 film, 1982 miniseries, 1997 two part miniseries and finally the musical). 
> 
> Though heavily structured on the musical's adaptation, with book by Charlotte Jones, there will be characters from the various versions sprinkled in and I have tried to make it so that no matter which version of the story you know, you would be able to follow the characters and situations. This particular world is separate, and cannot be pinned to any single version of the story but has an ode to each one. Anything which was exclusive to one version is explained one way or another as the characters discover it.
> 
> If I had to single it to one purpose, I would have to say that this story is dedicated entirely to Maria Friedman's performance as Marian Halcombe. The interpretation as played by her is single-handedly responsible for creating this beast which you are about to read (whoever will, thank you!). Though throw in the other wonderful Marians, special recognition to Alexis Smith, Diana Quick and Tara Fitzgerald as well as the entirety of Coldplay's 2009 album Viva La Vida and you have the workings of a Shade and Light overhaul.
> 
> In essence, this is the love letter to all of the incarnations of The Woman in White, and my own interpretation of the unwritten future of the magnificent creation Marian Halcombe, seen through the eyes of a Maria Friedman devotee. Also, this is now 2017 that this fic is being published to A03 and as I have not edited or touched this in many years, I prefer to transfer it and keep this whole and untouched as it was when I was writing it in my teenage years. It is a relic to me in that way and I will always hold a dear place in my heart for this story, this production, and the profound influence the entire experience had in my life.

 

October 27th, 1866

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Count Fosco was always a man who enjoyed watching people. It seemed naturally, that his need to understand others and observe would justify his necessity of sitting quietly on a park bench, often for hours, merely to watch. Much to the dismay and annoyance of his servant. No matter, he thought, even when I relax I need protection. The sky was clouded, but the rain only heaved, it was not yet ready to release a sigh of showers. Not while Fosco was without his umbrella. He heard another muffled cough to his right.

            “Not yet,” He said, “there are still so many out enjoying the air, why can’t we?” The Count rested his hands on the top of his cane, raising his shoulders ever so slightly to shift the weight of his coat. A young blonde couple passed, quietly. Argument was seeping from the wrinkles on the lady’s brow. Fosco let a smile escape from the corner of his lips; a smile of remembrance of the bygone days when female indignation would cross his path. Off behind him were the sound of carriage wheels and the symphonic whinnying of horses. He stole a look at his watch, while a dog came to his bench and relieved himself behind the post. Another muffled groan sounded from the quiet watchman. A breeze, cool and foreboding of the coming winter made the red leaves above him twirl down to the stones at his feet. Seeing them spin, again recalling the countless performances of ballet he saw in his native country, of petite ladies clad in red twirling in delight to augment the entrance of the hero. He lifted his right foot, keeping the leaves from falling and trailing dust on his fine leather boots. Another glance, he said to himself. Off in the distance past the end of the path he saw a man leaning against a tree, looking at his pocket watch. Another just passing through, holding his hat firmly to his head, afraid even the breeze may take claim of it. The Count took a deep breath; cool air filled his nostrils matched with the smell of warm wool on his shoulders. Another arguing couple passed, this time he was only able to distinguish a few words that he heard the gentleman say. The Count chuckled, the short intake of breath making his weight shift on the bench and the edge of his moustache tickle the dimple on his cheek. With one hand, he brushed down his waistcoat before moving to button the last few buttons on his overcoat.

            Suddenly running towards him from the left, he spotted a little girl. Her hair fell out of place and her skirts were littered with crumpled leaves and dirt stained her stockings. She held her long dark hair in fists across her chest, where her blue coat remained unstained. The laces on her small black boots were loose and the heels wet from puddles on the path, shining flickers of light off of the soles. Looking around her with anxious eyes, the attractive little girl stopped where she stood and echoed a sound which pierced the Count’s heart to hear. She had started to cry, momentarily using the sleeve of her fine coat to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Her eyes closed tight and drops of tears rushed down her face. The girl cried out for her mother. Fosco, unable to take his glance from her, looked more carefully. She could be no older than two or three years of age.

            The Count, his sentiments overcoming his judgment to avoid social interaction, rose awkwardly from his seat. Settling his feet into the cobblestone path he rose from the bench, resting the bulk of his weight on his cane upon standing. With the servant coming to his side to keep his balance, the Count approached the girl.

            “Mia cara, “He said softly, using tones he had not used in years. “Do not cry,” He stepped closer, the girl unscathed by his unfamiliarity remained standing with her eyes lowered.

            “Monsieur...my mamma.” she managed to utter, a sweet sound filling the air.

            “I see, I see well then let’s try to find her, you may walk ahead of me if you like.” The Count said gently, not willing to risk any questionable motive or response to his conduct. Gently he put his hand on the girl’s back, his great height casting a shadow across the top of her head. He saw now the tie to her hat across her neck, the hat hanging across her back. Lifting the hat, he pulled it forward across the girl’s face and held it out for her. With some hesitation, but quieter tears, the girl placed the hat back onto her head. He looked into her eyes. The Count’s mind turned towards his past, startled as to why he should think back now about those days. Merely the flash of a distant memory, of standing in a parlor and watching a man in the corner; a drawing master. The man’s name momentarily escaped his recollections, but something in the girl’s eyes reminded the Count of him. Inwardly scolding his thoughts for their irrelevance, he looked up across the path, and saw the girl take several steps in front of him, looking out as well.

            _“Catherine!”_ A voice issued behind him.

             The Count’s body was not what it used to be. His knees creaked as he moved to turn, his servant now off to the side, sure that his master had found his balance. Remember the days, he thought, wishing he could toss the cane aside. The voice called again but he still could not distinguish which of the people around him had issued it. It did not help that the mind which he had cast off as irrelevant moments before, started up again and instantly he deemed the voice familiar. You really are getting old, he whispered to himself.

          It was true. He was not the same man he was at his prime, the Count thought. If it had not been for the endless travelling, the long pursuit of a safe haven and place to call his own where he may avoid the lingering persecutions of his own countrymen. In the corner of his vision he saw Francis standing patiently as he was; he too seeming older and less refined as he had been when his only task was to serve as valet. Things had changed.  The foreboding breeze of winter seemed to speak not only of the change in the season. The chills in his body which had no explanation were not of an earthy provocation. He had braved and escaped it many times, he thought. There were times even as a young man where he felt certain his number had been drawn and the consequences of his actions would at once be recompensed. But he thought back on the life he had as he noticed the sun appear at the tops of the trees behind the overcast sky; breaking through in brilliant auburn rays which skimmed the tops of the branches above him. He could see that same light cast across stone buildings, paths narrow and cramped between villas and market squares in his hometown while his naïve eyes looked up at each of the open windows above his head; remembering the sights of his neighbors casting out their pots into the street, or flying their rugs into the air like sails catching the wind. The Count could recall the same sunset across the coast, from his seat on the ship he had sailed with his brothers in philosophy. The same light cast across the thick trees surrounding the English estate he had frequented for many years; only his fondest memory of the evenings in the house were accompanied with the sight of a dark haired woman pacing the ground, her cashmere shawl trailing behind her tracing the hem of her gown as she walked to the edge of the trees. The golden light seemed absorbed by her ivory shoulders.

All at once, he saw the little girl dash ahead of him, turning and noticing the caller. The little girl’s skirts pushed the air towards the pavement and scattered the leaves where she ran. Out of the corner of his eye, Fosco noticed his servant. He was staring, direct and disrespectfully at the point where the child was running towards. The Count had not seen that look pass over his servant’s eyes in some time. With a momentary pulse of anxiety, the Count glanced to where the girl had stopped.

            Taking the girl into her arms was a dark haired woman, dressed elegantly in what appeared to be blue silk topped with a fine plaid cape. He could see her hands, strong and well formed, wrap around the girl’s face as she kissed the child’s head. Her features, try as he could to see, he could not distinguish at this distance. With uncertainty, a foreign emotion to the Count’s estimation, he stepped forward in a light pace towards the pair, still feeling unsettled by his own thoughts which lingered on his consciousness like a forgotten dream. The servant, who could see the woman’s features by his distance, remained momentarily, than set off towards his master in a manner which suggested he meant to protect the Count from something. Like a man about to pull back a dog about to fly into a busy crossing. Losing sight of his servant, the Count continued forward until he was nearly five paces from the girl. The mother pulled her face away from the girl and looked up. Her eyes met the Count’s.

            The Count knew his mind to be better than it was. He knew now that nothing in his thoughts should ever be cast aside, and if his assurance thinks someone familiar, doubt would not be an option. But he never thought, never even dreamed he would ever again look into the eyes of the woman before him. Suddenly every vein in his body rushed, blood warming his face and quickening his heart. Overcome by his emotion he froze where he stood, even losing the feeling of his weight on his legs. Feelings and sensations he had not thought or entertained feeling ever again invaded every pore. That doting love, the powerful ardour of his youth, the perspiration on his brow, stripped his face of age and made him a stuttering boy of fifteen again. Or even a man of sentiment, denied that which he wanted most. Back when an Italian beauty, or more importantly, an enigmatic English rose, tempted his virtue.

            That rose stood before him again, a vision he could only have imagined in his wildest fancies. He could do nothing save mutter her name on his breath.

            _Marian._

            Everything he remembered, the magnificent Marian Halcombe of his past, came back to him. The first and last weakness of his life, before him again. For a moment he felt himself blinded by his own memories; his own remembrances of the wits and wiles of Marian Halcombe that would steal into his thoughts; the sound of her laughter at his outrageous tales, the shadowed glance of distrust, the way her eyebrows would raise ever so slightly despite her resolution to seem disinterested in his foreign insights. She was the first woman he ventured to have complete equality in matching his tremendous cleverness. The strength of her resistance to his courtship, the glances he would steal of her while she read in the library, the unmatched envy he felt seeing her white hand lay across the open page, the audacious night before his departure for the Continent. Everything. In the seconds while her eyes acknowledged his and her own recognition betrayed her expression, the Count cast other thoughts aside. He could see her eyes dry every tear of distress she had produced, fire sparked from her glance and the Count relished the pleasure of feeling her stare. Feeling her magnificent indignation stir his blood once again

“You found her,” A woman came running towards them, holding her cap atop her pile of reddish brown hair. “Thank heavens!” She said, hinting an origin of Ireland in her voice. The woman passed Marian and the girl, who was standing with her hands on her mother’s shoulders. The red haired woman extended her hand to Fosco.

            “Thank you for looking out for her, sir.” She said genuinely. Now Fosco’s eyes betrayed his curiosity. Another person was in tow with the red haired woman. He was a light haired boy, clad in grey with soft features and long limbs; his suit even than showing to be tight for his expanding frame. The boy’s arms reached out for the little girl, his gentle voice breaking the silence as he exclaimed his relief. The two children embraced, leaving Marian Halcombe on the stone path staring up at the Count’s face, her lips parted from rushing breaths.

            There she was, her fine silk skirts billowed around her thighs, and her hair set neatly behind her neck in an embroidered snood. She was even more luscious, her body more firmly set than the last time the Count had glanced upon her. Evidence enough that she had indeed, no matter how much the Count wished to doubt, produced the child before her. The bold colored lines of her cape drew his eye to her best features the Count observed with satisfaction; the lines of amber and rose traced with perfection the symmetry of her breasts and a black belt cinched her elegant waist; though clearly confined to the fashion of the times rather than its’ natural circle. Her face had not lost any of its’ appeal, though only to Fosco did he find her strong brown eyes and defined jaw attractive. There was at least in that short moment a glimpse of a temper he had observed but it was repressed with a thin, piercing glance and a pair of lips so tight against each other no sound came through. He begged to hear her voice, The Count mused. All of his senses held a memory of her and they stole into his thoughts like thieves rummaging through his memories; pulling them out like drawers full of linens; their flashes of white drawing his eyes to bring them back to his consciousness. He could hear her hushed tones in his ear again as though she were whispering to him once more. The Count could breathe the aroma of the warm silk gown she wore in the afternoons; the heavy handled masculine umbrella shading the sun from her face yet resting invitingly on her shoulder. He could not keep his expression from betraying his thoughts when he recalled the most thrilling of his senses; the moment when he should have known her actions were of purpose but the excitement of her hand reaching across to touch his leg conspired against his reason.

Still unable to speak, Marian Halcombe adjusted her skirts and rose from the path. She stood before the Count like a fine marble statue; a work of art the Count could only entitle  _furia._  The last gasps of the sun caught in her left eye and casted a shadow over her face. Clenching handfuls of her skirt into both hands Count Fosco could see the color draining from her knuckles. So still and silent Marian remained before her feet stepped towards him and her lips parted. Red lips with hints of purple; proof she had done everything to hold her tongue before saying a word without proper preparation. 

Finding no discomfort in taking every moment to observe her, the Count himself found no immediate cause to speak. Seeing the silence as the opportunity words began to be heard, but they were not from Marian. The nursemaid who stood behind her stepped forward standing between the Count and her muted mistress.

            “Oh, Mrs. Gabriel, let’s thank the gentleman and be back, Aaron would be worrying himself, and Catherine’s spoiled her dress.” The woman with the red hair said, matter of fact, and in perfect tones for a caregiver.

             _Mrs. Gabriel_? The Count’s thoughts stalled, and it was the catalyst he needed to break his glance, Marian beginning to breathe again as soon as he did so. He instead directed his attentions to the boy and his nursemaid. The boy stood to a height nearing Marian’s shoulder and his warm and innocent eyes looked up towards the Count’s face with silent inquiries. The boy was finely colored with beautiful brown hair and soft hazel eyes. The Count recognized the spirit of his boyhood in the boy’s intuitive curiosity, almost narrowing his eyes to focus on his face in an attempt to interpret his character. In that same moment, his prying glance was seen by the nursemaid and her light tug on the sleeve of his coat reminded him of the cardinal rule of children’s etiquette; don’t stare. Taking the opportunity to bridge the silence between him and the impending tirade sure to emerge from Marian Halcombe, the Count put his hand to his heart and leaning on his cane bowed grandly towards the young boy.

            “I am glad to have been of service.” The Count said, with confidence, seeing the broken silence manifest at last in Marian with her reply of silent scowls.

            “Yes, thank you sir.” The boy approached the Count.

“Luke!” Marian said sternly. The Count’s own breathe returned to him. The inflections of her honeyed voice were deeper then he remembered, no doubt colored by her unaccustomed situation. Marian’s face flushed with rage, still keeping her eyes on his face. The Count secretly delighted that even against himself; she could not publicly break her prim veneer to expose her true feelings. The Count could not even be sure himself what those feelings were; hatred of course, he had after all succeeded in stealing the identity of her wealthy half-sister in trade for a persecuted lunatic. Admiration; since try as she may to have showed her disapproval in those brief moments when her vengeance showed in her face, Marian continued to acknowledge the genius of his scheme and the clever ploys in which he executed them. And lastly the Count knew of a feeling that had made Marian betray herself; he had seen it in her eyes the night before his departure. A moment broken through crystal clear from the haze of his zeal; it was Marian’s face as he held it between his hands, withdrawing his kiss to look into her eyes. Her eyes were closed and he could feel her body fall slack against him. For a moment he fancied she had sighed, but the thought left him when she opened her eyes. He knew from that moment that in spite of her own resolve to prove his better she was only a woman in love after all; trembling with anticipation. The kiss that followed was not insincere; the Count had been the one to ensnare her and he relished every distraction he could force upon her to keep her from her purpose; to find where he had placed the crazed Anne Catherick.

There was a clear change, the Marian he knew would not take a moment’s hesitation in pulling the boy back, releasing her temper in a spectacle only matched by a military ambush, and walk away from him, swearing upon her honour never to speak or see him again. But she was in the company of others, and rather than have her children or her or servants see her demonstrate an ill example or question her conduct, she remained silent.

            “Pleased to meet you, young man,” The Count said, humoring the final clause. “And what is your name?” He said gently. Marian closed her eyes and turned the little girl around, who had the moment before, been holding fast to her legs and wiping her tears on her skirt.

            “Luke Gabriel, of London, sir.” The boy said, in a tone appropriate for a boy of his age and station, every inch of him a budding gentleman.

            “And the lovely young lady-

            Marian sounded an audible gasp, her arms tightened around the girl with all of the force and grip of a band of iron welded to the barrel of a canon. This was one situation Marian Halcombe would not compromise in showing her distrust; her large and gloved hands closed over the child’s shoulders. The sight before him stunned him; the disbelief that his Marian stood before him protecting a child of her making never once crossed his mind as a vision of her future. Words came back to him; words which he had tried to forget, taunting, sneering remarks he had made to Marian once the mask of her actions had been exposed. It was when the charade was over, when the Count found the missing document from his folio crumpled and stashed down the bodice of her gown which had only just been breached by her doing. She hadn’t fooled him, not for a moment, the Count remembered. All at once he knew he could do nothing to prevent her from seeking the imprisoned girl. If he was going to let Marian escape with her life he had to take something from her. The Count hated physical violence; as Marian stared at him mustering every last ounce of courage to look him in the eye and deny his accusations, he could not fathom striking the cheek he had so enjoyed touching minutes before. He could not imagine renting the gown from her frame and taking her, an act he was sure his late lamented friend would have encouraged. Instead, the Count concluded, he would take the only thing she had left in the world: the fulfillment which came from feeling loved and the inevitable solitude rejecting his amorous advances would leave her with for the rest of her days.  

            The Count’s thoughts were derailed when his eyes met those of the child in Marian’s arms. All of his words, his ominous foreboding he had recalled uttering to Marian were cast back into his mouth. He recognized those eyes. He remembered the name of the man she saw in his eyes. The realization overcame him so fiercely he could barely say it to himself. The Count at once felt an unutterable excitement; akin to how he felt when he first heard how similar the dazed Catherick girl had looked to his desperate friend’s wife and schemed in moments how to succeed with their conspiracy. The little girl moved her hands away from her face, her curled brown locks framing her face while straight wet paths of tears slid down her cheeks. The Count could see it so clearly now he amazed himself at how long it took him to notice. Marian had uttered nothing, but saw his gaze at the girl with intent and on seeing his delight display on his face, hastily turning the child towards the nursemaid.

            “Her name is Catherine.” The young boy said. The girl muttered a reply, before a stuttering breath took hold. The Count was unsure whether the break of speech was due to the girls recovering distress, or from Marian’s rushed actions. Catherine muttered soft protests to her mother’s orders.

            “Katie we must get you home.” Marian interjected hurriedly. She loosened her grasp and led her to the red haired governess.

            “But mother,” The boy said aloud “shouldn’t we ask for the man’s name, so father might send his thanks.”

Fosco was taken back. The conduct of the boy was nothing less than the most gentile and respectable of any youth he had observed in his life. Appropriate that he should be Miss Halcombe’s son, he thought, though still doubting her direct relation. Once again, Marian’s conduct was reproached, and by none other than a ten year old boy. Again, he felt a shiver of amusement, similar to the amusement he felt when watching a ringmaster or circus man control the tigers or other great beasts, more powerful than the masters by far, but still at their beckon and call.

            “You may tell your father, young man, that Count Fosco accepts his gratitude, and extends his gracious compliments to his family. You may tell him that!” He said. The Count watched the smile disappear from the governess’s face. Turning towards her mistress, the Count watched as Marian turned her back on him, with no customary courtesy, and marched away from the Count. The little girl, Catherine, forced to hold tight and run to keep up with her mother’s lengthy march. The pleats across the back of Marian’s coat bounced and split open with her hasty motions. The boy however, kept up his pace and had enough time to come beside his sister and take her hand from Marian’s. A breeze, cooler than before, brushed down the back of Fosco’s neck as he watched Marian take the arm of the caregiver, whispering in her ear as they departed from the west gate of the park.

            The Count, after a pause, addressed his servant:

            “The Count is weary after all, Francis. When we get back, I want you to find the address of Mr. Gabriel. I mean to send to my thanks, and more perhaps.”           

            Francis, nodding in reply, went beside his master to monitor the Count’s first steps. Finding him steady, perfectly capable this time around, he took his position several paces behind the Count, keeping his eyes wary of everyone surrounding. The Count, surveying his corner of the park with all of the fortitude and resolution of a king overlooking his lands from a lookout post, made his progress back to his hotel. As he walked, he allowed his memories to take over, sure now that his mind was everything it was and more.

 

_Please Count Fosco, you can see I am quite well, I will be fine._

_Now, now my dear, you’re shivering! It would be against everything I stand for if I left you here dripping wet. Come now, Miss Halcombe, I’ll send for one of the maids, she can change your gown and than you will sleep like an angel._

_No thank you, Count, I’m fine._

_On this matter, Miss Halcombe, I must voice my objection. I am a doctor, I know best._

_Marian took the small glass vile in her hands, grasping it firmly between her fingers. She put it to her lips…slowly at first, until the bottle was tipped and the nectar of darkness poured into her mouth. The Count placed his hand around her head and forced the bottle upon her lips, forcing her to drink every last drop. The glass vile fell from Marian’s hand to the floor, where it shattered. The Count swiftly managed to hoist Marian into his arms He strode ardently towards her bed and placed her onto it. The Count lifted her head slightly and tenderly stroked her hair away from her face. His thick fingers skimmed over her throat and his breath grew noisier, his face inches from hers. The Count looked at her face cautiously, sure that her senses had been dulled by the drug. As he drew closer to her lips his hand, slowly and as gently as he could, touched the bare skin at the top of her breast. His kiss lingered, but he withdrew quickly. His hand savored the softness of her skin._

 

_At first sight of Marian entering his home, The Count doubted it was her altogether. Her hair, which he always felt was beautiful, but never in any way ornamental, now dazzled his eyes by the delicate, carefully placed curls falling down the back of her neck. Her hair was pinned and braided into an arrangement which hung high, complimenting the shape of her neck. The Count’s eyes left her hair and observed the almost perfect color of her skin. She looked years younger and healthier than before. She was no longer pale by candlelight, no longer wallowing in the loss of her sister, and just like he had hoped was prepared to seek solace in his company. And the gown, Fosco observed; a luscious, burgundy soaked satin clung to her shape, a constricted corseted waist. Her simple act of breathing became an aphrodisiac. The dress billowed from the waist and made folds along the floor. The ornate black lace bodice was embroidered with intricate, glittering black beads which shone in the light. There was a long black train spread across the back of the dress. Such a contrast from the plain calico country dresses he had seen her fashion at Blackwater Park. The firelight glowed on the beads of her dress. The shine, though meager, blinded the Count. The Count stood still for a moment, gathering his calmness as if it had gone astray out of his hands. He thought to himself; never thinking Marian could have ever looked as attractive as she did. But there was something different, in her manner and the way she entered the room so quickly. The Count turned back towards her. But his eyes strayed to the curls of hair winding down her shoulder. The wood in the fire began to crackle, spreading uneven spectrums of light across her face._

_“I have been thinking...” Marian said softly. “About my dear sister, Laura, and what she would want for me…she would not want to see me this way. I cannot spend my life in mourning. I must try to move on, though I miss my sister so!” She said, covering her face. The Count placed his hand upon her waist, breathing softly, looking into her eyes. Marian ceased her tears. She sighed._

_“I have to admit.” Marian paused, leaning in closer to his lips. “I am glad that I came here…”_

_The Count, however, with open eyes, keen to her expression, hesitated. Instead he kept a steady hand in her hair, motioning his fingers through her curls rhythmically. He gripped her hair tenderly as he brought her face closer. Without pause, The Count place both hands on her face and pulled her towards him, locked together unable to speak. The Count felt her arms tighten around his large waist. He held her tighter; his hand following the line of her neck, stopping at a place where he could stroke the top of her breast with his thumb. Suddenly, and with a physical force he did not think Marian possessed, she thrust his weight away from him, making his balance unsteady and forcing him to fall inelegantly onto the chaise behind him. Aghast at her sudden refusal, the Count arranged himself on the chaise to rise again, but before getting the chance, his breath stopped in his throat. Marian unbuckled the top of her corset, fire catching a small tear in the corner of her eye. She pushed the sleeves of her dress down her arms and rolled her shoulders back. Lastly in a gesture that shocked every preconception he had about this magnificent Marian, she positioned herself beside the Count, leaning her back against the other side of the chaise, and with a free hand,  lifted the left side of her skirt, showing the Count her left thigh and the top of her stocking, hinting at the flesh just above it. He should have know than her actions had more motive than what he had seen, but caught in the desire of her, no other thoughts occupied his mind. He could do nothing but obey. And that, he surmised, was all he ever wished to do._

 

The Count, having reached the door to his room, turned the knob and raised his left hand, making Francis retreat to the drawing room. As he pushed open the door, the hinges gave an awful creak. The hotel was not very old, he remembered, but anyone would think the door was a hundred years old by the poor old croak it gave as he pushed it open. Closing the door to his room, the Count removed the hat from his head and smoothed over the top of his wiry hair. As he crossed his room, a well-furnished room trimmed in gold brocade curtains and deep green tassels, he untied his cravat and pulled it away from under his chin. Unsure of his next move, an unnatural thought process to him he hoped not to repeat, the Count sat at his desk beside the window. He rolled back his shoulders, resting his weight on the back of the chair, which whimpered when meeting him. Of all his experiences and of all of the times when his actions were weighed with consequences too serious or too dangerous to execute, this time he did not know how to proceed. Restless for a solution, the Count than drew out a clean paper about him and dipped his pen into the ink, pulling it out quickly. A black streak of ink crossed over his desk and stretched to the floor with the flourish of a whip.

            Marian,

            I know your reluctance, but I implore, on peaceful grounds, the desire of speaking with you.

             A thought crossed his path, a thought that years ago he would have employed as a sure tactic to use for his gain. Such thoughts resurfaced, and with confidence he continued to write:

            I could not help, upon viewing your beautiful family, remembering a certain man. His eyes looked back into mine when I looked into the eyes of your little girl. Call me an old man with poor sight, but my mind showed no misgivings in seeing all of the resolution and composure of a certain man in the dear Catherine. I saw nothing of the same in the build of your son. Satisfy my curiosity or alight me with your indignation, I find it impossible that you should have married that “Mr. Hartright” when his motivations and actions against myself and my late lamented friend were so clearly deterred from yours.

 

You may find me at the Hotel Apollo, Gare de Lyon.  Third floor.

 

FOSCO

 

_‘Oh my dear, Marian. Please, let me help you.’ The Count said._

_The Count entered Marian’s room, striding unhesitatingly into Marian’s bedchamber. It was the day before her sister Lady Laura Glyde’s funeral. Having the orders to be prepared for travelling to Limmeridge that afternoon, her bags and belongings were still in disarray about her chamber. When he saw Marian, she was already partially dressed, covering her saintly white with a dire black gown. The dress looked itchy and he could sense Marian’s discomfort as she continually pulled the sleeves on her arms and tried closing the collar. But throughout, Marian sat quietly on her chair in front of the window. She hid her face behind a handkerchief._

_‘Oh, bella, come now.’ The Count said, striding closer to her. His large hands extended towards her. Marian sat frozen. The Count stood by her and went to his knees, his weight forcing him to stumble partially to the floor. Marian turned away, ineffectively trying to hide her sobs. ‘Marian…my dear.” The Count placed his hand onto hers, tenderly caressing it with his large fingers. The Count brought her free hand to his lips, kissing it fervently. She continued to weep and as he stroked her hand tenderly. The Count then rose clumsily from his place on the floor and gestured for Marian to stand as well. She shook her head, such as a child who refused orders._

_‘Come now, Miss Halcombe, we must prepare.’ He said. She let out a louder sob with his words, not wanting to rise. All of his sensitivities were put before her, and still she drew back. The Count came to his feet. Whether from annoyance or fright, Marian suddenly rose from the chair and tried to avoid the Count’s hands. But his arms stopped her and clutched her to him. Unable to think, Fosco supposed, Marian surrendered and leaned towards the floor, a spasm of grief temporarily rendering her speechless. She turned hastily and wept onto his waistcoat. The Count whispered ‘we must get you ready’, but Marian shook her head and lain it on his chest. The Count fastened his arm around her and brought one of his large hands to her face. He stroked the hair from Marian’s eyes and tried to look into them. Her tears smeared his hand and Marian tried to resist, but having no defense, Fosco kept a steady hand and never faltered in his stance. The Count looked into Marian’s eyes, and found her dumbstruck by his grey eyes, hopeless to resist his glance. Before the Count quite knew what had happened, Marian raised her own hand to the Count’s neck and pulled her lips towards him. With broken senses, Marian pressed her lips onto the Count’s. Fosco was stunned. He could not think. Soon his kisses became more frequent, holding her closer to him. Oblivious even to the purpose of his presence in the room, the Count failed to notice that Marian’s tears had ceased, nor that her maid in service was standing in the doorway, her small hand over her mouth shielding her gasp_

_The small sound shattered the Count’s momentary state of peace, and Marian pushed the Count violently away and screamed, demanding for his immediate departure and hurling endless apologies._

~~~~

 

The Count awoke to the feeling of sunlight on his face, coming in through a gap between the fine heavy curtains. No dreams, he thought, at least not ones he could remember. As soon as he woke, he was filled with the anticipation of the next hours. Remembering his letter he had sent, with no prediction as to its outcome. As he was falling asleep the night before, he searched his thoughts for every possibility she could present. Would she come? Would she ignore his letter, or even his subtle accusation, enough to avoid him altogether? He could not tell.

            The Count wrote down his list of delicacies he requested for his breakfast, and for his possible guest, and pulled the cord beside his bed. A small bell rang in the other room. In moments, his servant entered.

            “Good morning, Count.” He said, officially, coming towards the bed.

            “Good morning, Francis.” The Count added. “A few new things, with my compliments,” The Count said, rising to let his feet drop over the side of the bed. “Take this down, then return and bring out my black waistcoat.” The servant nodded, putting the note in his front pocket. He then moved to the tall dresser on the right of the Count’s large bed, and opened both ornamental doors. Pulling out garments and making piles on the table beside him, the servant moved to speak.

            “Sir, I intended to speak about my delivery last night. I did not send one of the hotel carriers.” He said, taking out a shiny black waistcoat with silver threading making flourishes of ivy vines. “I delivered it myself.”

            The Count looked up at his servant, almost surprised at his choice, but than again checking himself, thinking it the best choice of actions he could have made. He nodded towards his servant, approving his choice, even when it had already been made.

            “I thought you should like to know where Miss Halcombe is-

            “What hotel?” The Count interjected.

            “No hotel, she is residing here in Paris. I took my inquiries to the local office, an accountant just south of the hotel. He gave me the name and the address to his law offices across the river. I got a fly, and getting to the office, I saw his colleague. I did not refer to the letter, merely interest in getting his information as a prospective client. He told me that the Gabriel’s, though London born, have resettled in Paris over three years ago. He told me that Mr. Gabriel was one of the most sound and trustworthy lawyers in the city, and even told me he had taken part in the organization of the book you mentioned.” The servant paused, expecting the Count to interject with a fresh suspicion, or distrust of having written to her the night before.

            “The caregiver or the girl’s nurse answered; sure I had not been misled in following. She recognized me, for sure, but upon taking the letter firmly closed the door. No doubt the family knows of Miss Halcombe’s disposition towards you.” He said, unbuttoning the closed waistcoat. “But I got a look at the house. Amiable, not at all like St. John’s Wood, but the man Mr. Gabriel certainly is in no poor position.” The servant looked towards the Count, and they exchanged glances. Both thinking that even in residence, the Count could have offered her so much more.

            “Never mind.” The Count said, rising from the bed and pulling his nightshirt down to cover his legs. The servant placed the fresh waistcoat on the bed and crossed to the other side to help the Count to his feet. “Prepare nevertheless, who knows what today will bring.”

 

            The Count sat in his spot, a beautiful window seat overlooking the street below. The table before him was prepared with the best finery his hotel could accommodate. For breakfast he dined on the finest minced salmon, and a tartar of tuna with a rosemary garnish that filled the room with hints of spice. Accompanied by two towers of the best grapes, local figs, and even two glowing mangos topping the towers. He could only take small portions of everything, his appetite suppressed by the intoxicating air of possibility. He kept his eau de sucree on the windowsill closest to him, and occasionally while watching the world below him, sipped it methodically. True, he had not taken the same routines as usual, he abandoned his newspapers, not caring to read of any other lives and instead focus on his own. From his seat, he pointed flaws of décor to Francis to have him attend to. A statue too far over on the table, fringes on a lamp entangled. Taking another sip, the Count set his eyes on the corner of the street, staring into the faces of all the women crossing towards his hotel. So far, none resembled Marian. He had another moment of doubt, thinking he had been a fool to wait like a maiden for a caller for someone who detested him. At least in public, Marian detested him. He remembered how vividly she had written about him; the level of detail and one line in particular:

            _The man has attracted me, has forced me to like him. In a few short days he has moved straight into my good estimation, and how he has performed that miracle is surely a wonder to me!_

            He reflected on these words to ease his anxiety. The Count could recall her fine control of language, her wonderful recollection, and of his former desire of having her not only as his lover and companion, but partner to his interests. What wonders could he have achieved having a woman like Marian at his side? He could barely fathom it himself. _With that woman as my friend_ , he thought again, _I could snap my fingers at this world, and all would do my bidding_. But on second thought, the Count paused, having her as a match to his games was more amusing than anyone he had encountered before. Too often the women involved with his bait at home were weak, foolish women who had no sense of foresight, of wit, or even resolution. Like dried trees in drought lands, the tiniest provocation and they would tumble over, powerless to stop it. In other words, a bore, after several years of much of the same. But this Marian, who unlike his previous experiences was merely sister to the prey rather than wife, showed more spectacular protection and fortitude to every step he and his lamented friend had made. Sir Percival was useless, he recalled, miss stepping every chance he had to gain control over his gaggle of women.

            Just then, Fosco eye’s followed the form of a woman turning the corner. His breath caught in his mouth; in disbelief he raised his arm to his servant, who upon the cue opened the door to his room. He looked back; noticing that at Marian’s side was a man. He was not much taller than Marian, and by the neat wool coat with a leather belt, had to have been the lawyer Mr. Aaron Gabriel. He was a man not too far in years, no older than he supposed Marian to be. He could see the evidence of age at the soft grey tones at the roots of his hair. He had a gentle composition, and a strong hand on Marian’s back as they walked together towards the entrance. She appeared different, her hands were together under a fine fur muff, but her eyes seemed uncertain of where to focus, looking about her constantly. _She is no fool_ , Fosco thought, hoping she might not notice his precautions.

            “When you bring her to, wait in the hall. I’ll send for you if needed.”

            The excitement disappeared when Marian and Mr. Gabriel crossed under the entranceway to the hotel, losing sight of them as they entered the lobby. Francis stood by the door, his arms behind him neatly and looking out into the hall. Fosco took the last sip of his water and placed the empty glass on the windowsill. He turned in place to face the open door, looking across to the end of the hallway where the stairs were located. Unable to focus on detail, from his excitement, and admittedly his age, he waited to see the outline of her figure. Another woman came up the stairs, crossing to the left of the stairs to return to her room, and another, and lastly a man with spectacles and books turned away and moved left before he caught the sight of Marian.

              To his prediction, Marian approached his room alone. He took note of this, thinking of what place in the lobby or stairwell below she had decided to station her husband. Husband, he inwardly scowled. As he let the mild groan escape his lips, Marian reached his suite, paying no mind to Francis in the door. Without taking more than four steps into his room, she pulled her hands out of her muff and set it on the chair with a violent pitch.

            “May I venture to ask with what incorrigible gall you had in having me leave my children, risk my husbands reputation and _life_ if you are concerned, and summon me here with little to no reason, disrupting my life when I thought I had made it very clear years ago never to speak or see your contemptible corpulence again?” Marian said firmly, keeping her hands momentarily engaged by holding the fabric of her coat closure; looking even more delectable to his eyes garbed in a green skirt with a white floral coat.

            “You are not a fool, Marian.” Fosco replied gently. “I know truly that your decision to come here was born out of a sleepless night, a weighing of options, estimations of my actions in either affirmative or negative in whether I would pursue you further, or if I merely meant to threaten you-

            “If that is your case, you can be assured I take no hesitation, I have come as prepared as you.” She said, motioning curiously over the left pocket of her rinzu coat. _No_ , he thought, even his bold Marian would not be bold enough to bear arms.

            “There will be no need of that…” He said half hearted, still shocked at the very idea, shock mixed with a carnal excitement which at his age proved a shock to his system. “Besides, do not take me for a fool in the defense of my impenetrable calm, Miss Halcombe-

            “Mrs. Gabriel to you!” She shouted, losing her temper partially.

            “It is early, Miss Marian” He continued, hearing her scowl at his non compliance. “Wherever your husband is stationed he is watched, I have two men who if at any sight of authority presence or attempted arrest will fire at will.”

            Marian’s stance broke, her eyes deceived him, and momentarily she turned to face the door, shifting her weight on her hips and placing her hands on them. A short intake a breath, almost a laugh, escaped her lips. She matched eyes with him again, the Count now knowing what kings in chess exemplify when stalemated.

            “So take a seat, Miss- Mrs. Gabriel.” He said, albeit against his desire, “There is no rush.” The Count rose from his seat on the window and with the aid of his cane, crossed past the table before him, decked with his finery. Marian turned to him, keeping her stance firm as he approached. He extended his hand, again delighted to glance and admire his beautiful tigress in her cage.

            “May I take your hat?” He said, only then noticing the fox trim and black ostrich plumes. Not to his taste, but fine nevertheless. With a jerking of the ribbon, Marian took the hat off of her head, but instead of placing it in the Count’s hand, tossed it aside to the chair where her muff resided. Then keeping her eyes on him, Marian pulled each finger to pry the black leather gloves from her hands. 

            “Can you imagine the number of times I’ve fancied killing you?” She whispered. The Count paused, his temperature rising, wanting more and more to possess her.

            “And I…” He paused, searching Marian’s gaze for any shred of fear. Instead she stepped closer to him, so close her breath stroked his face and his blood rushed. It took everything he could fathom to control himself.

            “You see I have no fear of that.” She paused. “I know, deep in your pestilential soul the only shroud of good you have left is your love of me.”

            Now the Count could only pause. Only hold his breath and hope for no more. But again his combatant thoughts survived, and he whispered:

            “And I know the only reason you do not shoot me dead is not only the loss of your husband, but the protector of yours and a certain _drawing master’s_ weakness.”

In a flash, the Count’s breath was stopped, and an intense pain unlike any he had felt before from any woman crossed his face. It took him a moment to see the source, Marian’s left hand cradled in her right and pressed into her waist. A sound escaped her lips, seeming to be shocked by her own action. But in the same moment, she righted herself. Fosco, for the second time in his life, was stunned. Not from any of the words, but of the incredible strength of her strike. Collecting himself after a moment, the Count uttered gently:

“I see no reason for such an unreserved reaction. My letter implied my inquiry.”

“I don’t know how you could have…” Marian’s voice tapered off as she began to pace between him and the door.

“Only those who knew yourself and Mr. Hartright would ever have suspected.”

“Why do you want to uncover this?” Marian said, a hesitation creeping into her tones. “Of what importance is it to you to know of my daughter’s life? I’ll tell you nothing if your purpose is malicious.” She stopped, brushing the back of her hand briefly across her forehead.

“Is that to imply _intent_ to tell me?” The Count added quickly. Marian paused, only then allowing the Count to observe her quietly again. He noticed the details of her green skirting and of a beautiful gold watch and fob on the belt of her coat. Despite her pacing and quick motions, her hair remained neatly twisted behind her neck, a becoming coiffure appropriate to her new role. Though the Count preferred the long, unbounded hair she had fashioned all the time at Blackwater Park. Marian breathed deeply, the Count watched with surprise to see her body deceiving her resolve to remain controlled. She seemed on the brink of illness, and not by her own choice.

“You have no way of victory.” She said, matter-of-factly. “We neither of us will strike the other-

“Then why not take advantage?” The Count said, jovially as he moved away from the center of the room back to his seat by the window. “Allow me the pleasure of speaking to you on equal terms, with no opposing interests, even if it is the last time-

“It _will_ be the last time, if that is your condition.” Marian said, placing her hands back at her waist.

“Condition? Why use a word like ‘condition’, I am making no contract of war with you. Is it so impossible to think that I have no other interest, in this autumn of my life, of your concern than to merely be in your presence? Our times of such belligerent nature are through. I took what I wanted and desire nothing more material from you.”

“You bastard.” Marian whispered. Again, the Count noticed, her body was acting on its own, and for a moment Marian leaned forward slightly; seeming to alleviate a discomfort in her stomach. Ignoring it, Marian continued “How do you expect me to be cordial with the man who single-handedly changed all of our lives, not merely my sister’s.”

“What have _I_ done?” The Count said after a pause. “Not to you. Your conclusion, as I have witnessed yesterday, seems not to be of my doing-

“I assure you, it is.” She paused. “Partly.”

“Partially? And you wonder why I inquired so just now?” The Count quipped, pushing aside a pillow from his seat to the opposite corner. “I implore you, sit, you seem ill.”

“This has nothing to do with you.” Marian said, moving towards the table with deliberate steps. She pulled from the display one of the short water goblets and hastily reached for the pitcher hosting the water. She poured herself a glass, and impatiently put the goblet to her lips. Pausing, Marian held it there, looking into the clear liquid. She set it back down onto the table.

“I’ll have you know you shall not take advantage of me.” And with that, Marian poured the water from the goblet back into the pitcher. The Count stared with curiosity. In addition, Marian took the pitcher within her hands and walked over towards the door. Noticing the decorative porcelain umbrella stand on the left, she took the water and poured it into the holder. The Count, delighted with such an image, allowed laughter to roll through his body. Marian firmly placed the pitcher back onto the table.

“Have you not heard a word I said? You English are insufferably suspicious. Do you think I would mean to eliminate you, when I’ve stated that your presence is all I require?” The Count said, confident she truly had no other reasons to suspect him of any trickery. “Sit, please, Mrs. Gabriel.”

Marian paused, breathing slowly. She crossed the room, the Count listening to the sweet rustlings of her skirts, and pulled the chair away from the table. Marian took the chair in front of Fosco’s window seat. Turning out the chair to the right, she could sit in perfect view of Fosco. Slowly, Marian lowered into the chair, looking across the table at the splendor laid out before her. Next she moved to open her coat, but paused when her hand touched her left pocket. Marian removed her coat and the Count’s eyes followed the delicate pin tucks across her bosom, again accentuating her exquisite form and her ivory neck framed with white lace. He watched as Marian folded the coat in her lap, keeping the left pocket exposed.

“Show me.” The Count said gently.

Marian, without hesitation, sank her right hand into the pocket and pulled out a small, gleaming silver pistol no larger than her own palm. Fosco whispered beneath his breath as he stared at the pistol framed by the delicate floral motifs of her rinzu coat.

“Beautiful.” The Count was overwhelmed by how attractive she looked in that moment. Visions of swelling tableaus, of lovers taking their lives in swirling colors and music entered his mind, Lady Macbeth with the dagger, crimes of passion. He compared such moments to the one he lived in. When he blinked and looked on her again, the Count felt a strong air of protection around her, a vicious heightened awareness he could only relate to the glare of a lioness protecting a cub from a rapacious alpha male. He felt, intuitively, that Marian was protecting something more than merely her husband or immediate interests, perhaps even more than her own life. Finding the silence dangerous to Fosco’s contemplations, he ventured to continue:

“I meant what I said yesterday about your husband. I send the utmost respect.” He gestured to the plates of fruits, marmalade and pastry. “Do treat yourself.” The Count said, thinking perhaps he too would enjoy testing one of them. Marian made no move to any of the delicacies; instead she placed her pistol back into the pocket and kept her left hand over the coat. Yet when she looked next, her eyes caught the smaller plate of strawberries accompanied by other berries. Marian reached across the table for one of the strawberries. Finally, Fosco observed, whatever ailed her before seemed to depart her now.

“How is it that I, aside from the immediate consequences involving your sister, contributed to your life as it is now?” The Count said, with genuine interest.

“It began when you left for London.” Marian said gently. “I followed you, and sought Walter in the city.”

The Count took notice of Marian referring to Mr. Hartright so informally. Fosco could hear any claims or denials Marian could have offered, but nothing in her voice at the moment made him doubt that she had not loved him at a time. A love which, looking at her present situation, had perhaps been as unrequited and unfulfilled as his. Recoiling with his earlier discovery, his vision of Walter Hartright in the eyes of the little girl, surmised that it _had_ been, in one way or another.

“Since that time?” The Count concluded. “Tell me.” He said gently, looking into Marian’s eyes.

“Three days after the funeral, I found Walter.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Marian rose from the bed. Her shivering body chilled more by the tears which streamed slowly down her face. The walls around her were the colors of misery; all of the windows were broken and the woodwork sad and dismal compared to the bright, glowing décor of Limmeridge; her home. Walter sat on the bed. His face was lowered and his eyes were fixed in a gaze of sorrow at the floor. Marian let a gentle cry leave her throat as she slowly walked towards the door. As Marian approached the door, a brief but chilling breeze brushed her face. The breeze, though soft and gentle, felt like blades against her neck. Gasping from the sudden chill, she placed her hands upon the collar of her gown and held it close to her. Holding back her tears and hesitating to take the last step, she searched for the buttons to close her dress. Only then did she realize they were gone. The front of her corset was the only thing separating her pale skin from the harsh winter air. Marian watched as her breath formed clouds in the doorway. Walter heard the floor creak from beneath his feet. That silence, the blade which had hacked and torn all the hope which Marian had left in her heart, had pained her more than any feeling she had felt before. Her heart felt empty, thinking herself an utter failure since she could not acquire the trust of the man who loved her sister more than anyone she had known, save herself. She felt as if she would never breathe again. _For Laura…_ she whispered into the air _, I will right this wrong_. She thought.

The next step. The last step before leaving Walter’s room. The step seemed like miles. A sensation of loneliness robbed her face of its color as she rested her foot on the floor. The floor creaked. But it was not her footstep. Walter had risen from the bed. With a speed quicker than any movements Marian had made in her life she turned to him.

            “If we find Anne Catherick,” He said softly “If we know her secret…we can stop Sir Percival Glyde.” Walter said standing. Marian stood in the door; a breath of hope rushed back into her body and broke the ice which had frozen her heart. The sensation left her breathless. Her face brightened. The fire of her heart was lit. Marian, overwhelmed with a joy which set her steady feet trembling, kneeled within the doorway. Walter kept his silent gaze upon her as he walked to the door. Marian buried her face within the folds of her gown and felt the tears soak her tattered dress as she clutched it in her hands. Her momentary sadness ceased as Walter offered his hand. Marian looked up at him, tears still glistening in her eyes.

             “Are you really going to help me?” She uttered softly “They must not get away.” Marian took his hand firmly and slowly rose to her feet. Strands of her hair fell in front of her face. A feeling of shame came over her as she looked at herself. Her dress was torn, the velvet having lost its smoothness days before. The dress seemed to consist of nothing but bare threads. The first four pearl buttons of the bodice were lying out in a dark alley somewhere. Her hands blotted with scabs and scratches, as if an artist had dribbled paint in her palms. Walter held her hands within his. Moving them closer to his lips Marian saw his eyes notice the scabs on her hands, the white corset peeking out from beneath her dress; and with a certain hesitation, the skin of her breasts. Marian put her hands to her dress, hiding her pale skin as the clearest sign of her ill health.

            “My God…what has happened to you Marian?” Walter said softly. He dropped her hands and left them at her side as he went to close the door. She saw him look warily through the hallway before closing the door and turning the key in the lock. Marian’s heart rushed in spite of itself. The moment passed by quickly, but the sound of the lock clicking rung in her mind. Marian could not let her face become flushed. Walter came back to her side and held her around her waist. “Tell me everything that has happened?” He said, walking her to his bed. “Pray tell me no one has harmed you.”

            “I had some trouble,” She said softly, placing her hand upon the bed before sitting down. Marian placed her hand over her torn dress and looked up into Walter’s eyes, all of the sudden feeling conscious of her body. “I suppose I trusted people too easily.”

            “How so?” Walter said, sitting down beside Marian. Marian’s eyes lowered. An expression came upon her face which spoke to him; words of defeat. She closed her eyes, denying her own memories and trying to stop herself from weeping. The overwhelming humiliation came back to her and gave color to her face; within an instant she became flushed. Without speaking Marian clutched the collar of her dress closed and shook her head. Walter rested his hand on her shoulder. She looked away from Walter and kept her eyes lowered. “Then you needn’t speak. Whatever happened to you we’ll keep in the past. Just please don’t tell me that this, whatever wrongs came upon you, was because of me.” He said, pausing as her eyes glanced up at his. “Tell me your search for me did not bring about this despair?”

            “I’m sorry Walter.” She whispered hastily. “I know not a soul in London. I asked anyone who would listen if they knew where I could find you. I found someone but he-” Marian paused. Sobs began to stutter her speech. “I have nothing left. Had you not pawned your portrait of Laura I would never have found you.” She whispered. Marian’s hands moved again to her broken dress and the tears started down her face. “Laura’s locket…he took it.” She cried.

            “Laura would not have cared about her necklace. She loved you much more.” Walter said. Tears started at his face just by saying her name. Marian clung to his arm and let her tears fall upon his sleeve. But not wanting to drown in her grief, Marian gained her strength. She loosened her grip on his arm and stared into his face. His dark, guileless face though blackened by sorrow, still beautiful. Marian’s heart stirred once again as she stared into his eyes. His face was unclean and poorly maintained, so different from the days at Limmeridge. Walter looked dark and besieged; his tortured face arousing all of the sympathies in Marian’s nature. She tried to speak, but her cold lips tingled to kiss him. Absorbed by her own thoughts, she could only imagine her lips brushing his skin and his arms fastened around her. That was all she wanted, even just for a moment.

            “You said they murdered her.” Walter whispered, “Glyde and Fosco…you must tell me everything that happened after I left Limmeridge.”

            “So much, Walter. Only I do not know where to begin.” She paused, resting her head on his shoulder. She could hear his breathing. “When I think back I doubt if what I saw was real. I have thought of nothing but finding you, looking at everyone’s faces. My mind is hazy…I’m sorry.”

            “Rest now, Marian. Stay here, I will go across the street, I should have enough money to get us a decent meal for tonight.” He paused, leaving her side and walking to a rickety bureau in the far corner of the room. The room creaked at every movement. Marian felt a sudden anxiety quicken within her as she noticed the other aspects of his room. The broken windows were covered by worn fabric which seemed as thin as lingering fog and which flowed in the wind gracefully. The ceiling leaked. The floorboards buckled under the weight at the smallest provocation. The crude gaps in the wood walls were filled with spider webs and dust. Marian looked at the floor next to her feet. There at the foot of Walter’s bed were two bottles of liquor, one empty and broken, the other half empty, standing tall. Marian placed her hand around the body of the glass. She brought it to her. Marian watched the liquid dance within the glass. She placed the bottle beneath her nostrils and took a deep breath. Marian dropped the bottle and coughed, trying to get the strong scent of gin from her nostrils. The bottle hit the floor and the remaining gin poured out and spread upon the floor. Walter turned from the bureau, startled.

            “Marian?” He said walking back from the bureau, now with a small coin bag in his hand. Marian covered her mouth with the backs of her fingers. They looked at the empty bottle. “Never mind about that.” Walter said, lifting the bottle and walking to his window. Marian watched as he set the empty bottle down at the ledge. A reflected image graced the glass. The small bottle caught the light of the moon and took the image to itself. The glass now held a small, distorted oval shape of white imitating the shape of the moon from his window. The small phenomenon made Marian’s face lose some of its sorrow; the wonder formed a smile on her face.

            “Hartright!”

            A woman’s sharp voice called. Marian turned to the door. Walter walked from the other side of the room. The door rattled beneath the woman’s hand _. “Hartright!”_ She shouted.

            Marian’s eyes followed Walter. He opened the door. The woman passed Walter violently and entered the room. She stood with firmness and her tight corset pushed up her breasts and displayed them out from her green velvet dress. The dress was ostentatiously trimmed; glittering with gaudy gold tassels and fringe. Her hair was piled atop her head and flowing down her shoulders, shining gold and falling over her round breasts. Make up masked her face. Her bare arms pale but with marks of violence; small bruises. The skirt of her dress was gathered up from beneath her underclothes and one leg was exposed. Her black lace garter and tights frayed and her hose broken with large holes and runs across her thighs. The woman was a prostitute. Marian’s face turned flushed and words dropped from her lips as she stared at the woman. Desperately she wished the woman would leave.

            “What do you want here?” Walter said firmly. The prostitute put her hands on her hips and shuffled side to side.

            “I heard from Bella that she saw a woman go up to your room, and that later you locked your door!” She said in a haughty tone. She fixed her tainted eyes on Marian. “I told you not to take any competition with my girls, you live here, and you stay with my girls!”

            Marian rose from the bed so quickly she was sure the weight of the floor would break from beneath her. She turned around, her face red with rage and her hands clenched in fists. “How dare you!” Marian screamed with all her fury. Walter was startled. He turned to Marian and held her back from flying at the woman. “How dare you insult me?” She cried passionately. Walter’s face went pale.

            “Get out of my house!” The prostitute screamed.

            “No, wait. Stop this!” Walter cried, holding Marian’s shoulders and standing between the two women. “Marian! Stop!” He held her tighter as she begun to take control of her temper. Marian had never felt such a rage boil in her blood. If she could, she would have laid the prostitute on the ground at her feet and struck out all the fury and humiliation she had felt. How dare her. How vile an insult it was to even be considered a whore among the people she’s been associated with. The shame which follows the very word itself made the sweat of rage fall from her brow. Walter whispered to Marian as she caught her breath. 

            “I’m sorry, Lucy.” He addressed the prostitute. “I’m sorry, my sister is not herself. We’ve had some upsetting news in the family and she has come to stay with me.” Walter paused, holding Marian; who stood in the center of the room as a controlled box of unexpressed rage. Her deep breaths seemed to echo in the small room. Lucy kept her eyes on Marian’s face. Walter released Marian’s arm and turned her around to let her catch some air in the window. “I don’t believe you made any laws about family lodging with me for a few weeks.” Walter said, looking at Lucy with a familiar smile.

            Lucy stayed silent. She too appeared to suppress what anger she had left by catching her breath and clenching the folds of her dress in her fists. “Very well…” She said icily. “But she best not get in any rows with my girls. She had best know her place unless she wants to go out to the streets.” Lucy said coldly. Without another word, and with a swish of her skirts, Lucy stepped outside Walter’s room and turned away. Her footsteps dimming yet growing louder as her steps were heard going down the stairs. Marian stayed near the ledge of the window. She fell to her knees. She took the moonlit bottle in her grasp. With tears of rage flowing from her eyes she smashed the bottle to the ground. The broken pieces of glass spread through the room like miserable showers of rain. She rested her head upon the ledge. Marian closed her eyes.

            Walter approached her slowly. She had stopped crying. He went to his knees and placed his hand on her shoulder, expecting her to look back. Slowly and gently Walter placed his hands on her shoulders, her body shivering beneath his palms. He moved her as slowly as he could from her spot on the ledge. Even with his slow movement, Marian dropped from her place at the ledge and fell into Walter’s arms. Her face fell inches from Walter’s face. He held her in his arms and looked at her. Marian no longer cared to appear strong, and her expression showed an intense exhaustion. Walter put his hand on her face and held her close to his breast as she calmed by her breath. Her hair slowly fell out from the snood which had held it neatly above her neck.

            He closed his eyes and clung to Marian, as if holding her would release his sorrow. When Marian opened her eyes, she noticed tears pouring from his eyes. He loosened his grip. Walter looked on the floor. A thin layer of broken glass glittered across the floor. Too tired to move herself, Marian kept still as Walter reached for his wood bed, the sheet hanging off the edge just within his reach. He grasped the blanket and pulled it towards him; holding Marian with one arm. Her neck stretched back letting her eyes focus on the ceiling above her, and her hands fell to her side. With his other arm, Walter covered Marian with the blanket and moved to lift her from the floor. As a sigh escape her lips, Marian's weight shifted as Walter held her and slowly crossed to let her rest on the bed. The softness of her dress caressed his fingers as the weight of her body fell upon his hand. He withdrew his hand, letting the board and thin down mattress harness her weight.

 

 

The sunlight spread into the room, inching slowly through the window and gliding across the broken floor. Light reflected on the particles of scattered glass. The sun coated the beads and made them release their shimmering light. The curtains swayed in the wind. The sunlight fell upon Marian; the blackness of the room growing brighter. She lay on her back, the morning sun creeping upon her face. The warmth of the rays felt comforting as if the arms of Mother Nature embraced her as she stirred. Marian woke. She felt her cramped legs ache and her calm heart quicken as she opened her eyes. Dust blew into the light from upon the window ledge. Her body trembled; the back of her neck chilled by the cold air. With her eyes closed and feeling her joints become stiff, she brought herself up. Marian heaved a long sigh as she rested her head in her hand. Her head felt giddy. Marian kept her eyes closed. Her hand reached to the back of her neck as she tilted her head back to stretch; her weary face bathed in the sunlight. She approached the lighted window, the floor waking with her as she walked. More aware than when she rose, the sense of isolation sent a rush of energy to her, making her eyes alert and her breath rush as she turned to look around the room. He was gone. Marian looked at the door and saw it was left open, a small gap left to keep air flowing through. She closed her eyes, trying not to worry about Walter. After all, he had been alone before she found him; he must have had his own troubles and worked his way through. Marian continued to the window, still lightheaded and drowsy. The crinkle of the broken glass beneath her feet whispered in her ears. Her dress warmed in the light, the thinning velvet fibers reaching for the last rays of sun it could hold before it frayed and let the wind through. Marian’s corset felt wet, as if a patch of ice held her in place instead of the stiff muslin. The thin sleeves hung at her gathered wrists and swayed as she placed her hand on the ledge. Keeping her face in the brisk morning sun, she leaned on the fixture and took deep breaths, hoping to clear her blurred mind.

            An overpowering sensation came over Marian’s body, the cold parching her skin. Her mouth turned dry, the cold air searing her throat. She longed for the sun to warm her, to pour down her body as warm tea from a cup. Marian held the front of her broken dress closed as the wind passed. She felt more alert, awake to the smallest provocation. But another pain robbed her mind of clarity and her body of strength. Marian could not remember the last time she had satisfied her hunger. She felt pangs in her stomach. Her mind wandered. The wind carried the scent of fish up from the pub across the street. Marian gazed out the window as if to smother her lungs in the scent. Her eyes gazed longing from the window.

Below the window was a small alley. Dew still glazed the lamp posts. The alley led into the busy street. The sidewalks were lined with people. Ragged women stood outside the pub windows and held their shawls across their breasts. Rustic letters bearing the title of the pub were carved into the wood above the windows. The faded gold paint within the depth of the letters faintly shimmered; blocked by small deposits of dust and moss which lay at the bottoms of each letter.  The sound of carriage whistles sang. Prostitutes gathered around a fire, at the other side of the door entering the pub; the smoke from the barrel curling up into the air and fading away. A bartender came out, his crumpled white apron stained with whiskey. He thrust a drunk, ragged man into the street. The whores laughed and snickered. Following the bartender, another man, sober and with a quiet face left the pub. For a moment she thought it was Walter. Another dizzy spell blurred her vision, her stomach twisting with vigor. Without being completely aware she reached out and gripped the knob of the window. She struggled to keep her balance. Marian turned away from the street and looked down, staring at the shattered glass fragments which glittered like sugar.

            The door creaked. Marian glanced at the door. The scent of worn leather filled the air as Walter closed the door; the movements of his body graceful and strong. Despite her weakness, a smile formed on Marian’s face. Walter faced her, his face looking cleaner and less pained in the sunlight. He held a small wicker basket covered by a plaid cloth. Marian felt as if he hadn’t noticed her. His silence was mildly uncomforting. With worry she glanced at him from across the room, placing her hand attractively upon her waist.

            “I hope you slept well.” Walter said softly. Marian stood still, sure that the sound of his voice had brightened the room and made the creaks in the floor cease to hear his voice. “I hope I haven’t worried you. I went across to the Four Corners…What is it Marian?” He paused. Marian stayed silent; her eyes lowered and seemed to wander around her feet. Her grip loosened from the window. “Marian?” Walter said louder. Within the next moment, Marian lost all of her strength and collapsed beneath the ledge.

“Marian!” Walter cried, dropping the wicker basket from his hand and rushing to the other side of the room. He called her again. Walter fell to his knees and lifted Marian off the broken glass, pieces dropping from her dress as he brought her to her feet. She began to whisper. Walter held her arm over his shoulders and brought her to his bed. With a slow and easy movement he set her down on the bed and held her up as she fell over into his arms.

“Marian…Marian!” He called, beginning to shake her.

            _Wake up and help me!_

            Marian’s eyes shot open. The voice shook her mind and made her blood rush with an unutterable awe. It was not Walter’s voice. Her quick breathing stretched her corset as she fell onto Walter’s shoulder. Her other hand found his face before resting on his shoulder.

            “Marian what is it? Speak to me. Marian!” Walter cried. She did not look up at him. The voice echoed in her head, bellowing like church bells, growing loud and dying away. She fought to speak. Words dropped from her lips. Walter left her side. He reached into the basket he had left on the bureau and pulled another cloth from it. There was a flask hidden beneath it.

            “Drink this. It’s just water. Please Marian…” Walter said, twisting off the cover. He held Marian’s chin and placed the flask at her lips. She began coughing, shaking her head violently. Walter fought to keep the flask at her lips.

            _Count Fosco sat beside her, handing her his flask. Drink this, it will help you sleep._

            “No!” She uttered before striking the flask from Walter’s hands. Walter was startled. He dropped Marian from his arms and let her fall onto the bed. Walter was disturbed at the sight of Marian trembling, from something so heavy on her thoughts she could barely articulate them. She buried her head into his pillow and lay still. Her heavy breaths were smothered. Walter stood over the bed, looking down at the ill creature. Marian started to move again. She placed her hands on the bed and slowly rose herself up. “Walter,” She whispered, her voice frail and weak, holding back sobs. “Walter.”

            “Marian. I’m here, what is it?” He said, going to his knees and placing his hand on her back.

            “I’m sorry…it’s just I…” She paused. “I can barely think I haven't eaten.”

            “Don’t say anymore now, rest. I’ve brought some bread from the Four Corners across the street. Lucy helps in the kitchen and I convinced her to give me something extra for you.” Walter said. Marian sighed with an overpowering relief and placed her hands on Walter’s arms. “When was the last time you ate something?”

            “I can’t remember…” She said softly, her head becoming heavy again. “Something came over me…I didn’t mean to startle you.”

            “Consider it forgotten, if you choose not to tell me, I respect your wishes. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to lose your strength, when you are well enough you must tell me everything that happened after I left Limmeridge.”

            With a start, Marian stood from the bed. She pushed Walter away and walked back toward the window. The sudden adrenaline made her heart jump and set her feet in motion. Her head became clear. She placed her hands on her head and leaned her sorrow into her hands.

            “First thing I must tell you. You must know this…Sir Percival Glyde did not love my sister. Everything you saw in the parlor that night, every word he uttered was a lie. He beat her, Walter!” She cried, her fiery temper fueling her body. Walter looked on in horror.

            “She showed me the bruises on her arms…his debts were the only thing he cared for. I have no doubt he murdered her.” Marian cried, glancing behind her. She rested her black eyes on Walter’s face. Her fists were clenched and her jaw quivering with rage. “And I heard them…every word in the library, though the thunder roared I heard enough to suspect they plotted her death.” She paused. “Glyde and Fosco.” Her voice sank with a rage so strong her clench on the folds of her dress cracked her fingers. Marian’s tears dried from her eyes, as if they steamed off her warm cheek, flushed with anger. She raised her head and stared across the room, gathering her remaining strength.

“I had a terrible dream the night she died…I was sure I heard her screaming for me. I still hear her voice in my head. And I could not help her!” She cried. Marian fell to her knees, her head beginning to spin the room around her. She felt the glass prickle her legs when she fell.

Walter rose slowly from the bed, still pale and staring. He closed his eyes. But when his eyes opened, after collecting his thoughts, Marian lay stretched across the floor. When she looked up, she saw that Walter had placed the watercolor portrait he had done of Laura on the easel near the door. Marian looked at the glass on the floor, no longer seeing them as a broken object of beauty, but as pieces that could be mended. As Walter stood close to his bed, a faint sound came to his ears. She looked down again, at herself, and tried with every breath to be strong. Marian’s voice called him.

“Walter….” She whispered. “…Walter help me…” Marian said louder, her arms fastened around her waist, the hunger tearing her apart from the inside. She couldn’t keep her strength. For days she managed to contain it in the fuel of her anticipation. The words she had released broke every chain which held her strength at her side. Her eyes longed to close and sleep. She stared up at the ceiling. The floor creaked, signaling movement. Walter’s steps softly tapping the back of her head with the vibrations. Walter looked down upon Marian as he slowly crouched down to her side. Placing the basket on the floor, he held out the basket to Marian. Marian reached for it, wildly searching through the basket with her hand. She pushed aside the silverware and her fingers groped for the first piece of bread she could find. Walter held her arm as he placed his arm around her back and lifted her onto his knees. Crumbs scattered around his shoulders as she brought the bread into her sight. The crust was stale with age, but the core of the bread was still soft. Without waiting another moment, Marian’s quick fingers broke the crust apart and she placed the slice between her lips. Her jaw felt stiff. The bread, though flavorless and dry, moistened in her mouth and satisfied her every craving. She rested her weight on Walter’s arm and held the bread with one hand, the other on the ground to keep her sitting straight. Walter smiled. With his other arm he reached for the jam.

 

On the hour later, Walter went to his knees and placed his hand onto Marian’s arm. He whispered her name to wake her. Marian. He said softer. Walter slowly tapped her cheek. Marian, wake up. Marian sighed softly as she opened her eyes. Her arms rose and fell. A smile came to her face. She felt her face gain life through her smile. There was strength back in her limbs. Marian sighed happily; the hunger ceased and the rest left her relaxed and calm. Walter smiled, leaving his arms back at his side.

“How would you like to help me today?” He said quietly. “I’ve not visited my customers in many weeks; let us see what I can offer them. Who knows, perhaps we could treat ourselves to a good meal before the night is through.” He continued, standing up from the bed and moving towards the basin in the corner. As she had slept, she surmised, he had brought himself warm water evident from the curls of steam rising up in front of the wall. Next to the basin she saw a razor with its end wrapped inside of a cloth. As her eyes closed momentarily to savor the yawn which overcame her she could hear the sound of the water sloshing in the basin and the first few strokes of the razor upon Walter’s cheeks.  

“I need nothing fancy, Walter. Don’t doubt my strength. I was overcome this morning, I feel much better now.” Marian said, turning towards him as he stood before the basin, his shirt opened at the neck and lines of frothy water coursing down his chin. Taking the last few strokes, with Marian’s full attention, he set the razor down on the edge of the table and wiped his face.

“Much for the better, and a nice walk and fresh air will do you good.” Walter replied, beginning to fasten the closure of his collar. “You needn’t walk these streets in fear today, Walter Hartright lives to protect you.” Walter smiled as he turned towards her, his now clean face freed it seemed from the darkness which his unkempt hair had reflected. For a brief moment, his eyes met hers, and again she fancied the same unaccountable girlish delight at matching his glare; a welcome moment of solace from the oppression she had hitherto borne.

Marian’s face brightened as she rose from the bed. Walter helped her to stand up and tightened his grasp on her hand before he let it go. He walked to the corner of the room and took his coat that was laying carelessly on the floor and reassembled it onto the back of a chair. Marian looked around the room, her eyes more alert and fixing on subtle details. She had the desire to set things right. Though still a small, frigid room coated in dust, Marian began to place things in tidy, ordered sections. With her large hands she picked up the bottles off of the floor and placed them on the window ledge. The obscure shapes of the glasses, the comical proportions as they stood beside each other put a smile on Marian’s face. Another jarring breeze came from the window. The window was closed but the glass in the lower quarter was broken, letting the breeze come through. It was this small, rigid hole that made the room shiver. Marian looked around the room from where she stood. The only free material she observed was the small rag Walter had used to dry his face. Walter looked at his refection in the cracked mirror. He looked back at Marian. The sound of her petticoat tearing filled the room. He looked back to get a better view. She had lifted the skirt of her dress and began to rip the ornamental bottom layer of her petticoat. She then noticed her torn stockings which fell to her knees and sank into torn leather boots. Buttons were missing, the shoes barely closed over her feet. She gathered the material in her hands and pressed it into the broken glass. Marian smiled and walked away from the window.

“It should be warmer in this room when we return.” She smiled. Marian stopped her work and gathered her long hair into her hands and placed it into her snood, which was pressed into the pillow. She pushed the hair behind her ears and adjusted the pins which held the twists of hair away from her face. Walter reached under his bed and grabbed his sketchbook and portfolio. Marian lifted his coat from the chair and held it ready for him. Marian slid the jacket up his arms and placed it at his shoulders. Walter thanked her and with a quick move, lifted the brown blanket from his bed and wrapped it around Marian’s shoulders. She grasped the blanket and held it tight around her arms, smiling as Walter rubbed her arms to warm her. He took her arm and led her out of the room into the hallway. He took a moment to close the door behind him and secure it.

They entered the hallway and Walter escorted her through the house. They had two flights of stairs to descend, all equally as poorly built as the last. The stairway landings buckled and screeched beneath their feet. The hallways had been dark when Marian first toured them, now she saw them clearly. Poorly and ill-mounted paintings of women lined the rotted walls of the floor below. When they reached the floor, Marian saw the blonde woman. Lucy sat on a chair in front of the door, her white underclothes barely covered by a burgundy gown even more provocative than the dress before. Her hands were covered in black lace and the silk of her gown rustled as she rose from her chair.

“We will return tonight.” Walter said. “I shall pay your room and board when I have sold enough paintings.”

“It’s five shillings a week and don’t you forget!” Lucy said smartly. “And I can’t lend you any more bread from ‘enry’s kitchen got that?” She snickered.

“Very well. Good day.” Walter said, still holding Marian’s arm firmly. He pushed the door open and allowed room for Marian to exit before him.

The harsh winter air blew the remaining snow up from the street. The buildings went two floors up, each second level having rusted iron porches. The windows were broken and every building seemed tall, uncomfortable and pressed together. Broken layers of frosty puddles filled the gutters, blocking the water from the drains which flowed past the snow, dropping off garbage. The street reeked of it. Translucent papers lay floating in puddles. Bottles and fragments of broken glass lined the sidewalk outside the bar. In the alley were piles of broken wood, shoes, and garments. Walter followed Marian and put his arm around her waist. He held her close to his side to protect her. Men walked by her. Their lustful eyes scanning her face as they passed her. The smiling old men laughed within the taverns. Their uproarious laughter reached the streets.

Walter and Marian proceeded down the sidewalk. A man looked at Marian’s face and smiled. His broken, yellow teeth made her face twitch with disgust. She held the blanket firmly and kept her eyes on the ground. The sound of their quick steps pressing down on the pavement was at once overpowered by the sounds of the city. Men went running by, chasing each other in violence. Walter kept a defensive eye, scanning his surroundings warily. He firmly held his portfolio and sketchbook in one while the other rested around Marian’s waist; holding her protectively. His hand was resting on her corset and he could feel the tightness of it, the vertical strips of whale boning between the lining and the muslin. Their breath formed clouds and blew into their faces as they walked. They were reaching the end of the street. There were more houses in view, but there seemed to be less people; the pubs not as rowdy. Marian looked up and kept her eyes fixed on the corner. She held the front of her skirt as they passed over the puddles and mud. There was one more drinking den before they could turn the corner. The sun peaked out from beneath the overcast skies. Marian was warmed by it and smiled to Walter. They approached the door of a pub and continued. A man threw the door open and thrust a full glass of ale into the street. The heavy glass struck Walter’s shoulder and ale poured over their shoulders and faces. Drops of ale splattered Marian’s face as she raised her arms to block anything further. Walter groaned in anger. His hair was drenched on one side and the ale dripped over the leather portfolio and the binding of his sketchbook. Marian cried to Walter in distress. She took the art books from under his arm and dried his face with the sleeve of her right arm.

“We must get you inside and dry your face before we walk any further in this air. Come, we must go inside.” Marian took his hand and walked through the doorway of the pub. Walter followed, still agitated and dripping. The ale’s scent would not escape his nostrils; it would cling to his leather coat. Marian guided Walter through the smoke clouds of cigars and pushed her way past the bar. The sober men tipped their hats; Marian looking like the closest personification of decency and moral judgment in the community. She found an empty table against the wall and set the chair right before Walter sat down. She pulled the art books from under her arm and placed them on the table. Finding no cloths on her table, she moved to the table next to her and took a cloth from beneath a drunken man’s unconscious head which lied on the table. Walter sat in a tense position, looking to find the man who caused it. Marian placed the cloth against Walter’s cheek and began drying his face and hair.

“You don’t have to do this-

“Oh hush, it’s no trouble.” Marian replied. Walter closed his eyes, suppressing his anger. Her other hand hovered over his ear as she pressed the cloth against his face. Marian brushed heavily over the shoulder of his coat before drying his neck. Her hands slipped away from the cloth as she pushed it beneath the collar of his shirt. Her small fingers had brushed against his chest. Hastily she put the cloth back in her hands, keeping her eyes from his face afraid he would notice the hint of color on her cheeks. Walter took the cloth from her, held it in his hand before thanking Marian for her efforts. She smiled. Walter opened his art books and began looking over his paintings. They were all free from damage.

In the corner of her eye, Marian noticed a cleanly dressed man standing at the bar. The watercolor’s caught his eyes. He was, by appearance, a man of good breeding and intelligence. His hair was combed back and his figure short and stout. Marian turned to him as he downed a shot of brandy. His eyes looked at the painting again, before going to Walter. Walter took each sketch and painting out and laid them on the table. Marian looked back to Walter. The smoke of a cigar passed over her sight, blurring her view of the man at the bar. Eliminating her added suspicion, she spoke:

“Aren’t you glad you have a woman at your side to keep you well?” Marian said brightly. “Even if it is just plain Marian Halcombe it is better than nobody!” She said, with a faint brightness of past days.

The man at the bar changed. He left his brandy glass on the bar with several pence and left the bar without looking back at them. He took his jacket and swung it over his arm, draping it over his shoulders. Marian, on seeing the man leave thought momentarily it reminded her of a man she had only seen once.

Marian helped Walter to get settled again and back to his feet. She wrapped the shawl around her head and let the rest fall on her shoulders as they made their way out of the pub.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun had begun to break the clouds and give a soft golden light through the gray skies. Marian held Walter’s arm as they left the pub and turned the corner. The scene changed. There were no longer rowdy, angry men and fallen women, down the street the people changed. The houses were cleaner. The white paint was clean and crisp, stable and respectable. Iron gates surrounded the front yards, dogs walked at their master’s sides. Walter pointed out notable sights in the community. They kept close to each other, and Marian let her shawl fall to her shoulders, no longer afraid to let her hair shine in the sunlight. The light caught Walter’s eye. He smiled as he looked at Marian; her eyes gazing around the street anxiously looking for something interesting to look at, as if she were a wandering child. The streets grew busier; they were heading towards the river.

Walter looked ahead of him as he reached the bridge. Marian kept her eyes in a steady gaze, staring at the magnificent structures across the river. The clock tower reappeared into view in the fog. Marian left Walter’s arm and quickened her pace to reach the bridge. There were tall street lamps, their curving patterns like great black trees coming up from the edge of the water. Her eyes looked on the massive pillars holding the bridge, the strong tides forcing the river to part paths at each column. Marian turned away from the stairs to the bridge, and instead turned left to stand upon the walkway following the river. Marian reached a clear view, and held on to one of the streetlamps as she stared in wonder upon the landmark of Parliament, stepping up onto the bottom rail like a young girl wanting to stare over a crowd. Walter approached slowly.

“Oh it is so beautiful. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it last.” Marian whispered. She turned to Walter. He was not beside her. She released the lamppost and turned around. Walter had stopped and had placed his sketchbook onto the bench. “Walter, what is it?”

“Stay where you were.” He said calmly. “Actually, stand here.” Walter said, as he approached Marian and held her arms softly as he guided her to the railing,

“Put your arms here.” He said, holding her arms and putting his hands onto hers as he stood behind her and put her hands on the balustrade. She felt his breath behind her, his face over her shoulder. Walter smiled and arranged her shawl to fall off her shoulders and gather across her back. Marian stood still, frozen under his hands.

“Could I take your hair out?” Walter said softy. “I want to sketch you here, just as you were gazing across the river.”

Marian nodded. She felt Walter’s hand stroke her hair and pull out the pins of her net, letting her hair fall down her back. He brushed his fingers through her hair. Marian smiled and closed her eyes. She remembered Laura. Marian remembered the nights when they would brush each other’s hair and tell stories. But these were not Laura’s hands. A new feeling, a rushing excitement filled her body and she smiled coyly. Walter stared at her hair, it fell above her waist and he pressed her curls between his fingers. Walter stepped back, stroked her hair one last time before picking up his sketchbook and standing at her right.

“Look out at the water.” Walter said softly. His hand extended out and he held it in front of Marian’s eyes to position her gaze. Marian stayed still. “Alright, try not to move too much. This shouldn’t take too long.”

“Certainly.” Marian smiled. She kept her eyes out on the water. She controlled her breath, concentrating to hold her place. She heard the sound of Walter’s pencil scratching against the paper. Her eyes stayed in a straight gaze at an area across the bridge. It was a small square, with scattered trees and benches facing the river. She grasped the balustrade tightly. Her eyes stared upon a couple. They stared at her. The man stood tall with a top hat and a cane in his right hand, a well dressed woman with a fur around her shoulders stood at his side. The woman smiled. They looked out at the river and embraced. Marian grew cold. They kissed.

The sound of Walter’s pencil came back to her ears, furiously scratching across the paper. Marian’s eyes fell low. Her concentration kept her still, but her mind wandered just the same. She looked up again, watching her breath form white clouds in front of her face and disappear. She would disappear too. The couple held each other for a moment more, before the woman smiled and held the man’s arm as they continued down the path. Emptiness consumed her. The air felt colder than before. Marian breathed quickly as she began to tremble. The world was no longer beautiful. There seemed to be a sudden hopelessness, a desolation infecting her eyes. She was overwhelmed with grief. Laura. Marian kept her eyes on the water, looking out towards the horizon. It felt beyond her reach, the sun had gone down on her. Tears came to Marian’s eyes. She tried to stop herself, thinking of something else, but loneliness consumed her. It froze her limbs and her mind grew frantic. She let her eyes gaze toward the length of the House of Parliament and even then her sadness did not leave. She imagined all of the men sitting within those walls, men who had all of the power she lacked in turning every thought of revenge and justice for her sister into action. She thought on her own love, her own indescribable passion for the artist behind her standing between her and the road to justice as the violent flowing Thames between her, trapped behind the balustrade, and the towering halls of glorious justice beckoning from the Houses of Parliament, even him, proving an unwelcome distraction to the crusade which navigated the course of her life.

Walter’s pencil had stopped.

“Marian.” Walter said softly. Her tears stopped. She brushed them away from her face quickly before she would turn her eyes toward him. Walter came to her side and showed her his sketch. Marian stared upon it. His long strokes captured the shade and light of the balustrade, the movement of the water and with incredible care the gaze of her eyes and the gentle parting of her lips. The lead was thick where her hair was. Walter’s hands had drawn Marian’s hair with thick, flowing lines which showed her small curls and made shadows on her shawl. Marian held the sketch in her hands. A smile came to her face, but she still trembled. She tried not to show her distress, tried not to say out loud the pencil had replicated the mirror. Walter took the sketchbook, closed it, and placed it back under his arm.

“Now, let’s proceed. One of my customers lives on the next block. Who knows, perhaps with this sketch we’ll have our feast.”

 

Marian smiled and held his arm. She felt even colder than before, stung by his words, thinking in that moment he could not possibly have been more insensitive. But she could not express her thoughts. She kept her hand upon his arm and walked in silence.

The air was brisk as they entered the square. The birds wandered aimlessly on the pavement while their faces lowered and their blackened feathers lay still on their wings. The birds cleared out of the way of those who passed them, twitching their wings. Walter pointed to the next road, past the square and onward into the city. Carriages rode by quickly on the pavement and the horses snickered to each other; their large nostrils flaring and their front legs jolting forward. The air was filled with curious aromas. Marian’s eyes wandered; seeming to dart from place to place. She kept her hand comfortably on Walter’s arm as they passed through. Marian’s eyes fell upon the decorated window of a frock shop. She became absorbed in the momentary sight of a beautiful dress in the window. Her hand dropped from Walter’s arm as they walked, causing him to look back and stop. Marian gazed into the window staring, only to dart her eyes again to a red sign in the window advertising the want for a seamstress. The gown on display was unlike any garment she had seen. The sleeves barely hung over the shoulders, yet the neck was not low. The dress was shapely, form fitting in lush, green tones and trimmed with evergreen chiffon. Small buttons decorated the sleeves and the front of the gown from the neck to the waist.

“Isn’t it beautiful? I have seen this same dress in the window for some time.” Walter said.

“Yes, how very curious.” Marian remarked. “It’s so different.”

“You’ll soon learn that fashion in Cumberland is quite different from fashion in London.” Walter laughed. He shared the moment with Marian; staring at the green dress in the window. Walter pulled her forward, and Marian looked away from the window.

Within minutes, they came upon a residential road filled with tall, crammed apartments and boarding houses. Though they were each next to the other, everything had been designed with symmetry; elegant white facades and tall, projected windows. There were iron fences around every tree and small patches of vines creeping up the walls of the houses. These were respectable families. Passing on the walkways were couples who walked tall, confidently and proper. Women in long aprons walked out from the mews with baskets and in the same moment they appeared, disappeared down the long steps to the lower quarters. Propriety was in the grass, in every blade and root. Women wore short, tailored coats with long skirts trimmed with frills and ribbons; wonderfully colored and shaped. Young girls with flowers in their hair skipped along the path with their parents.

When her eyes met one of the women passing by, the woman looked away quickly. Marian realized that her tattered blue dress caught the eyes of the women who crossed her. Although her face shone with the same grace, and her walk just as smooth and confident as the best of them, she could feel their eyes on her. She felt their inquisitive glances stare into her face as if to classify her place by her appearance. Marian fought her instincts to glare at them in return. They would not make Marian Halcombe feel unworthy. A woman stared upon her as she passed. Marian smiled, and in two words broke the distinction which had so vigorously tried to mock her pride.

“Good Afternoon.” Marian said brightly, bowing her head slightly, in the most appropriate gesture. The stares broke, the woman smiled.

“Good Afternoon!” She replied, than passed. Walter looked upon Marian, who strode next to him with an irresistible glitter in her eyes, as if she had been redeemed from the society that threatened to exile her. The jovial spirit was infectious and trapped Walter. As they approached their address, they greeted all who passed them.  
            Walter came to a stop.

He looked up the stairs to the house. A gold number hung above the door.

“We’re here.” He said. Marian held up her skirts as they ascended the stairs and came to a landing. Walter tapped the door gently with his knuckles. A servant, a well dressed older man, came to the door and his blue eyes quickly looked over Walter.

“Good Afternoon.” He said calmly.

“Good Afternoon, is Mr. Aldrich at home?” Walter paused, bringing out the sketchbook from under his arm. “I am Walter Hartright.”

“Oh the artist,” The man said. “Yes, he’s been hoping you would call. Please, do come in.” He said, opening the door and standing aside, allowing Marian to pass through followed by Walter. Marian stood quietly in the small hallway, holding her shawl tightly against her chest. The servant closed the door behind them and sealed it.

“And the lady is?” He said, looking at Marian.

“This is my sister, Marian.” Walter said quickly. He held Marian’s arm as she greeted the kind servant.

“Right, well come this way. Mr. Aldrich will meet you in the parlor.”

Walter and Marian entered the parlor. Dark velvet drapes flowed over the windows and there were paintings on every wall. Marian found her seat upon a small chair at the far end of the parlor, close to the corner. She looked at the paintings. Each one was different in its style and voice but common in that they were all landscapes. She noticed a painting hanging over the couch. Walter found his seat upon the couch and spread his paintings out upon the small table near his feet. Marian rose from her chair to get a closer look at the painting. It was a blue watercolor of a magnificent waterfall, and couples picnicking in the afternoon sun. The painting was so familiar, it seemed to bring forth a memory which through her grief, had been erased. Quiet summer breezes passed through her heart. The painting was home. It was in the village of Limmeridge.

“Oh Walter!” She cried, looking at the painting. Walter turned his head and looked as well. Marian went to the couch and leaned onto it as her fingers touched the brushstrokes of the painting; memories swarming her heart.

“You never showed me this.”

“Yes, it was one of the first paintings. I sold it to Mr. Aldrich shortly after I had heard of Laura’s death.” He said bluntly, and with an unfamiliar casualness. Marian glanced at Walter, almost angry at his carelessness of selling away his memories of Laura. Walter looked over at the entrance to the parlor. Mr. Aldrich had entered with the servant following behind him.

“Good Afternoon.” Walter smiled, rising from his seat and offering his hand.

“Mr. Hartright!” He smiled. “I was hoping you would come soon.” Mr. Aldrich said, shaking Walter’s hand, which was squashed within his large hand.

“I’m glad as always to be of service to you,” Walter paused. “Would you care to take a look?” Walter said, gesturing to his paintings sprawled across the table.

“As soon as you introduce me to this lovely creature.” Mr. Aldrich said, approaching Marian. Marian rose from her seat, awkwardly at first but catching her stance smiled gracefully and lowered her head. Walter laughed. Mr. Aldrich took Marian’s hand and shook it slowly.

“Oh forgive me; this is my sister, Marian.” Walter said clearly.

“You never told me you had a sister?” Mr. Aldrich said suspiciously, keeping his seasoned, flirtatious eyes on Marian. He dropped her hand. Marian resumed to her chair in the corner. Walter sat down next to his customer as the servant returned with a decanter of wine and three glasses on a tray.

“Now, show me what you have painted. I’m looking for some new art for my chamber, and I should like to buy my cousin a painting for her birthday next week. She often comes to visit and she dotes on your artwork, dear fellow. I had intended to call on another fellow, one who has just returned from Paris, but she found his new style wholly inappropriate. Apparently in Paris now take the largest stroke you can with the most unblended of color, throw it on a canvas and call it a tree! Most distasteful, she said, entirely unfinished.”

 “In that case I am glad to have been passing through, you know well of my work, is there anything specific you would like, sir?” Walter said, putting on his mask. Marian smiled, never before knowing the business side of Walter Hartright. She kept still and silent as she looked over the paintings. Marian could not take her eyes off of Walter. Try as she might to fix her gaze on some material object, or something shiny which a woman’s eyes were certain to notice, she could not take her eyes off of him. There was something in his manner, a new, unfamiliar tone in his voice which she had not expected from his lips. He spoke with a clear, impenetrable confidence. The two men looked over the paintings, Walter explaining each one with every page. Marian accepted the glass of wine brought to her by the servant. It had been so long since her lips had savored the taste of a fine wine. She brought the glass to her lips immediately, and gracefully tipped the glass away. The wine poured into her mouth, the rich aroma wafting up into her nostrils sending a thrill of satisfaction through her famished mind. Walter pulled out his sketchbook, his potential paintings. Maria watched Mr. Aldrich look over them carefully, observing each detail and commenting on every stroke. Then almost rudely, Walter moved to reset the pile Mr. Aldrich looked through. With haste, Walter took out a pile of the sketches, which were also scattered among the blank sheets. He claimed they were all blank, and were of no use. Marian accepted this excuse as she sipped her wine quietly and had in fact, found something shiny in the window. A sculpted piece of colored glass hung on a thread in front of the window, letting in a blue glimmer onto the sheer curtain between the velvet drapes.

“My word.” Mr. Aldrich cried, Marian’s attention drawn back to the discussion. He held a sketch in his hands. It was the sketch which Walter had sketched on an impulse that very morning; Marian looking over the river.

“What colors would you make this?” Mr. Aldrich asked.

“The dress is blue, her hair a wonderful dark brown, almost like the brown upon the bark of a tree.”

Marian's eyes darted to the two gentlemen.

“Beautiful.” Mr. Aldrich. “Who is the lady who modeled this portrait?” He asked, sipping his wine. Walter fell silent for a moment, seeing a coy smile form upon Marian’s face. Her face turned red and her eyes lowered, hoping not to match eyes with him. Overwhelming flattery put the shine in her eyes and in the same moment she cleared her throat, feeling even more a of a fool for not maintaining the control to overlook the flattery.

“My sister, Marian.” Walter said softly. 

Mr. Aldrich raised his eyes and looked at her. Marian smiled and laughed to herself. His eyes darted forth from her form, to the sketch itself. He rose from his chair with the sketch still in hand. The color left Marian’s face, momentarily anxious by the look on his face; a look as if he was observing her as closely as if he were sketching her at that moment. Mr. Aldrich stood over Marian. Walter smiled and sipped his wine slowly. The expression of flattery left her face, and in its place a gaze of discomfort and slight tension.

“Hartright.” Mr. Aldrich said. “I’d like you to make this a painting. You needn’t worry about supplies; I shall pay you _double_ to get yourself a decent canvas.”

Walter’s glass nearly fell from his lips. Double, Marian heard him whisper. The glass was placed back onto the table with a sharp sound as he rose from his place.

“Certainly sir, anything you wish!” Walter said gleefully. “Is there anything else sir?”

“No, but take care you make this painting worth while. There is something enigmatic about it, the position your sister stood, and the angle of her face, somehow you know she’s not merely looking over water, but weighing something on her mind.” He said to Walter, who stood beside him. Mr. Aldrich handed the sketch back to Walter. He looked gaily at Marian, a suppressed joy escaping in the form of a smile. He came to her side and took her hand. As Marian rose from her chair, thinking Mr. Aldrich’s comments were simple minded, Mr. Aldrich crossed the room. Walter whispered in Marian’s ear:

“What did I tell you? What luck you bring. I hope to keep you.” Walter said cleverly, smiling and squeezing her hand affectionately. Marian smiled and laughed with a giggle, so unlike any laugh she had before, embarrassed again. Walter stayed by Marian’s side and put his hand around her waist as Mr. Aldrich crossed the room to meet them, with a ten pound note in his hands.

“Here, Mr. Hartright.” He said pleasantly, placing the money in his hands. “Get yourself a decent sized canvas, wait however long you must to get the right light, if you must. Do you think you can paint it soon?”

“As soon as you wish, sir.” Walter said. Marian nodded her head in assurance. Walter put the money in his front pocket and made sure it was safe. In a business manner, Mr. Aldrich took Walter’s and shook it firmly. He came to Marian. She extended her hand to him to shake, as formally and as respectably as a man. He took her hand and put it to his lips. Marian smiled, but was rather unsatisfied by it. An image of Count Fosco came to mind; a memory of the Count’s lips lingering on her hand. Marian tried to control her temper, which came to her whenever she thought of the Count. She could not, for any reason, look displeased from Mr. Aldrich’s kind gesture. He held her hand tightly for a moment, and his eyes looked on Marian softly, as if he were absorbed in her face.

“Thank you kindly for this painting.” He whispered. Marian’s face grew flushed; she lowered her eyes, hoping he would not look on her anymore, especially since her thoughts had escaped to the Count.

“Do come again,” He said softly. “Thank you kindly, Mr. Hartright.”

 

Walter took Marian’s arm as the door closed behind them. They stood silent; Marian’s face still showing a rosy glow. He laughed as they descended the stairs. Marian held Walter’s arm closer to her as they proceeded down the pavement. She could not help but smile, and feel the residue of Mr. Aldrich’s penetrating glance.

“I’m so pleased to have helped you, Walter.” She smiled. Marian held one of his sketchbooks and pressed it tightly to her chest in her grasp.

“Do you want to try painting it tomorrow morning?” Walter said, with an eager tone, still feeling the weight in his pocket.

“If the weather is well.” Marian said, feeling a slight chill. The night was descending and a cold breeze passed them as they walked. It would be a cold night; the kiss of winter still lingering upon the cheek of spring. The sky was streaked with gold, brilliant gold stripes which painted the deep blue sky. Over the buildings and the trees the heavy sky was shaded, the sun withdrawing from the day’s warm embrace. The lamps were being lit. Shops and businesses were closing, the daily bread earned and the night’s rest before them. There was a certain calm; a rhythm in the air. The horses hooves clattered on the paved roads and the tolling bells had ceased. For the first time in many weeks, a feeling of peace came upon Marian. There seemed to be nothing that rest could not achieve and nothing as precious as the man whose warm arm supported her hand.

 

“A man with my tastes.” The Count said, sitting back onto the window ledge and brushing down the front of his waistcoat. Until this point, everything Marian had spoken was directed not to him, but in front of her, as though clearing each memory and validating its truth before uttering it aloud to herself. There were times, without a doubt, when the Count could see something behind Marian’s eyes, flashes of other thoughts or perhaps other memories and details so small or so great in effect she could not articulate them.

Other times, The Count merely stared at Marian in disbelief, not by her words, but simply by her presence. Like a traveler who upon reaching the end of the road, finds it impossible he finally reached his destination, as if in one moment all of the pains and toils of the journey had disappeared. As he watched, he caught every motion she made, how when speaking of her robbery, her hands instinctively wanted to cover her neck or be sure the bodice of her dress covered her collarbone. Marian all of the sudden looked across the table, seeing one of the small plates of marmalade.

“Katie’s favorite.” She said gently. Fosco’s eyes met hers, and in that moment he had caught the mother emerging. Marian clearly wished to have her beloved daughter in her arms at that moment, but a force stronger than her maternal instinct to run out the door and home to her child, kept her seated and looking into the Count’s eyes. Marian put her hands in her lap and craned her neck across the back of the chair, tension in her shoulders releasing as the Count’s beating heart quickened at the music of her sigh.

“Walter was the perfect gentleman, but there was something new.” Marian paused. “I cannot look back on those times and not feel like the weight of the world hung on either of our shoulders. So much relied on the two of us staying strong.”

“And he was able to help?” The Count implied.

“In his way.”

 

It was dark when they reached the corner of their street. The calm ceased, the taverns were filled with laughing, lost souls. Still Marian felt safe on Walter’s arm, as if no man would dare to harm her so long as he was beside her. These streets, however, were not ones to promenade down, and as soon as they entered the cruel territory, Walter’s arm fastened around her waist. His hand had lingered upon her back, his fingertips brushing tips of her long brown locks as they found a place to hold her. It was thrilling to Marian the way his hand firmly held her waist so comfortably, as if he had seen it or felt it before. As soon as she gained control of her thoughts she kept her head low and had tried to focus. Even when walking, she could not afford to waste a minute thinking aimlessly. They had to survive; somehow, someway she had to maintain her lifestyle; so long as Sir Percival Glyde was breathing. Marian felt anxious, longing for a revelation or action which would fuel her suspicions. She wanted to break free and find Count Fosco; the man who above all she most despised. Worst still, her memory returned though sensations; feelings upon her skin which only the Count’s hands must have caused. Marian closed her eyes; hoping to return to that very night and fully recollect all of the indiscretions the Count had performed.

Walter held Marian’s arm, he spoke to her but she did not listen, nor could she hear his voice beneath the sound of her quickened heart. She was overcome with anger, tears of wretchedness formed in her eyes. But she would not cry. Marian raised her head, taking deep, slow breaths to calm her fraying nerves. She was set afire again, and had at once found a way through her capricious mind to a clear, straight path. The path led to Count Fosco. She would find a way to seal those lips forever, after every word had been confessed and every wrong wrought upon Laura would be justified.

Walter grasped Marian’s arm, stopping her before she entered the house.

“Marian, what is it?” He said quickly. “What’s troubling you?”

“The Count, Walter!” She said fiercely. “Come inside, we will speak of him later. I’ll go mad if I talk of him now!” Marian said as she entered the hallway. Lucy had, as usual, taken her place on a chair next to the staircase. She rose immediately and blocked Walter as he walked toward the stairs. Marian got to look at her more closely now than before. Lucy was young. Without her rouge, her true face was almost the face of a young lady; no more than twenty-two years of age. She looked the same age as Laura. Marian suddenly felt an overwhelming pity, a quiet sadness that one so young could have resorted to such a life so soon. Walter approached Lucy on the stairs.

“Got anything for me?” She said haughtily. There was something in her voice which made her attitude seem false, as if it were nothing but a mask over her face. She stood on the third step and leaned onto the wall, her hair falling about her shoulders.

“Not today, I am to take care that my sister is well fed tonight.”

“Oh Walter, don’t bother!” Marian said hastily.

“No, I owe it to you.” He responded. Lucy laughed and shifted her weight on the step. Lucy threw her head back and laughed momentarily.

“Isn’t that sweet?” She said with sarcasm. “Well, you’ll have to sleep somewhere else than.”

“A moment, please.” Marian said, slowly pushing Walter aside. “Lucy, Ms, I would like to ask you something.”

“What?” Lucy snapped. “What do _you_ want?”

“I want to help Walter. Can I, by any chance, help you here-

“Marian! That is out of the question.” Walter cried, holding her back from Lucy and turning her into his arms.

“Let me finish, Walter,” She snapped back, retreated from his arms and turning back to Lucy. “I only hope that if I were to help you maintain things here, you would no longer charge Walter to live here.” She said persuasively, her voice taking a low tone which although sweet, had a quick and smooth precision. Lucy lowered her arm from the wall and looked over Marian. Her eyes looked over Marian’s figure pensively, trying to seem as if she were thinking deeply about Marian’s words; torturing them to wait in tiresome anticipation for her response.

“What kind of work?” Lucy said.

“Anything involving domestic chores, I can do much of anything, only I will not serve your establishment by any other means.” Marian said firmly. Walter held Marian’s arm again, and slowly brought her back towards him.

“Marian.” He whispered. “You don’t have to do this.” Water stood across from her and took her hand within his.

“No, please, you must allow me to. Besides, what will I do when you go off to you customers? I don’t want to be a burden to you.” She said sweetly. “I will stay here, and be sure to maintain our life here until we are ready. Every penny will go to the _cause_.”

“Very well.” Lucy said, interrupting. “Agreed, you can start tomorrow.” She said as she descended the step. “Good night.” Lucy said, with a force which suggested her words were not sincere. Walter let go of Marian’s hand. Lucy had left the room. He dropped Marian’s hand, almost too quickly, as if all of the tenderness she had observed in his eyes was false. Marian looked up the stairs as Walter slowly ascended them. He smiled and extended his hand to Marian.

“Let’s go, besides, we must talk.” He said, still holding his hand out. Marian took his hand with slight hesitation, thinking it best to hide the sudden joy she had thought during the moment she was fixed in his gaze.

“Yes, there is much to be told.”

 

They crossed the street and entered the crowded pub. The Four Corners Pub. Walter once again felt the need to be defensive, to keep Marian close to his side. There was a cloud of smoke over the bar area at the right and several tables spread across the left of the entrance and beyond, going further away from the street. Walter took Marian by the hand and led her beyond the bar and beyond the first gathering of tables. Marian’s eyes scanned over the people’s faces; poor sad souls burying their troubles into drinks. Towards the back of the pub, tables grew scarce and in their places were large, padded seats. Men sat with prostitutes on their knees, holding them upright and pouring gin down their dresses to drink off of their skin. The prostitutes laughed and stole the drinks from the men to drink themselves. Marian lowered her eyes and tried not to see the other promiscuous activities all around her. They approached a large hallway, where the pub met the kitchen. Walter slowed his pace and wrapped his arm around Marian’s shoulders and turned to the right. They entered a small, congested room which had an empty table near the door to the kitchen.

“This table is always empty. No one ever eats in this place.” Walter said, with laughter in his voice. He led Marian to the seat across and held the chair away for her to slide in. She smiled softly, but her smile could not persuade anyone that she was comfortable. Her face was pale, and her eyes alert and anxious; afraid of her surroundings. Walter sat down in his seat and rested his hands onto the table. He kept a steady, friendly gaze upon Marian; waiting for her to speak.

“Marian.” He said calmly. Her eyes rose from the floor and fell upon Walter. She was still silent, hesitant to have to return to those days. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she dare upon her mouth.

“Walter…” She paused; making sure his attention had been caught. “I will tell you everything I know but you must promise me that we will keep this between us, we cannot risk being found out.” Marian said firmly, her eyes no longer alert to her surroundings.

“I promise.” Walter said quickly, reaching across the table, hoping her hand would raise and hold his in return. Her hands remained placed upon her knees, twisting her fingers in her own grip, nervously. She lowered her eyes once more and struggled to find words which would begin her painful recollections.

“First thing, I want to apologize. It’s entirely my fault that things turned out this way. I’m the one who destroyed Laura’s happiness. I’m the one to blame for her death!” Marian said, her voice reaching the point of breaking into sorrow.

“Oh Marian!” Walter cried, “That’s not true. Speak, tell me everything that happened.”

“When you left, after they were married, I was sent to Blackwater Park several days before she and Sir Percival Glyde arrived home. I was so happy to see her again, I hoped so much that this marriage would work for her and she would be happy. But when she came home, she didn’t even greet me. I’ve never seen such hatred in her eyes before that moment. I could tell something was wrong than. I went to her room to see what was the matter and she was crying, she screamed at me and told me how unhappy she was and how brutally Sir Percival Glyde had treated her. There were bruises everywhere; I almost grew sick right at that moment. I tried to speak, but she cried so loudly and before I knew it she shoved me away. She’s never called me such things, never had been so cold towards me. I was stunned, I couldn’t think of anything but her pain. I ran away. I was so frightened and from that moment on I apologized every minute we were together. I earned some of her trust back, but I could tell she still did not trust me. She still did not comprehend just how sorry I was. When the winter passed, Sir Percival brought up some nonsensical document Laura was being forced to sign and I was at her side. Now up until than, I had never seen Sir Percival act viciously or threaten Laura. But everything changed, his temper flared and suddenly he ran over to strike her, but I stopped him. Count Fosco protested the whole time and tried to hold him, but nothing seemed to stop him! I was forced the throw myself over Laura to prevent another hand to be laid on her!”

“My God, Marian-” Walter cried, his head falling into his hands.

“I know this hurts you but you must hear everything,” Marian said quickly. “Now that night I retired early and Sir Percival and the Count were still awake, they were planning on talking in the library before they retired for the night. I had to find out what they were saying. I snuck out onto the roof from my bedroom window and found the library window. I heard everything, but when the thunder cracked it broke their speeches and I’m afraid that what I heard doesn’t make much sense.”

“What did they say?” Walter said hastily.

“Sir Percival spoke of Laura’s account, her twenty thousand pounds that was drawn into her will Mr. Gilmore wrote before they were married. That’s what he wanted all along! Even if he had to kill her to get it!”

“Marian stop-

“No, think with my mind, don’t you dare try to escape the truth!” Marian cried, reaching across the table and grasping his arm. “You know as well as I do now, Sir Percival Glyde killed her!” Marian said, a rage sneaking out in her voice. “And you say if we find Anne Catherick we can ruin Sir Percival, and we _can_ find her. Fosco has a document he signed, saying he had a new asylum to place her in. Than his manner changed, he was just about to announce a new plan, but I slipped-

“Dear God, Marian you could have been killed.” Walter cried.

“I knew the danger; I crept back into my room. It had been raining and I tried so hard not to get sick, and it wasn’t long before I was settled in my room that Count Fosco knocked on the door.”

“What did you do?” Walter said; his mind on edge and his face contorted with worry.

“He came with a spirit of some sort; he said it would help me get better. I protested as much as I could but I could only think that if I didn’t act on this, what could he do to Laura? Than he…” Marian paused, losing her words. “He offered it to me and I took it. Within a moment I grew faint, I can’t remember anything more of that night.” Marian said hastily, controlling her rage.

“It must have been laced with something; no spirit could have rendered you unconscious. He must have drugged you.” Walter said, analyzing the details and piecing together the clues for himself. Marian lowered her head.

“He did more than that.” She whispered to herself. Marian’s hands folded in front of herself, almost defensively across her breasts. She held the shawl closely to herself and tried to speak. For a moment, her fragmented memories came back, and the sensations she felt told her that the Count had allowed his hand to linger on her neck, and to fold back the closure of her gown.

“No.” Walter said softly, staring at Marian’s face. His eyes stared into hers, prying into her mind. Marian’s face grew red. Walter rose from his chair and lifted his chair from beneath him, moving closer to her side of the table to whisper.

“Tell me.” Walter whispered, “Don’t be afraid.” He said, holding her hand within his. A vicious look crossing his eyes that warmed Marian’s heart, to see him become so enraged for her sake.

“I tried to tell myself it didn’t happen, that it was only a dream, but my memories are trying to come back, so far I can only say that when I was drugged he put me onto my bed and-

“He didn’t force- Walter said, finishing her sentence.

“No, thank God he didn’t” Marian cried, “but… I can only remember him whispering to me...kissing me.” She forced out. Marian turned away from Walter, overwhelmed with shame and anger. Marian fought her tears; she was so weary of crying.

“Did he ever make advances to you before?” Walter said.

“Yes, in different ways but Walter, you don’t understand,” Marian said, turning her head back towards him. “No one can know how degraded I feel knowing that that terrible man who ruined our lives happens to be the terrible man who is in love with me.” She cried, leaning her head onto her hands. Walter grew silent, utterly stunned.

“That’s why we must get justice, if not for Laura for me, what he did to her _and_ to me!” Marian said. “Somehow we’ll get him, if not today, than tomorrow, the next day, we will find a way. I will do whatever I must to bring both of those men to justice.”

Marian heaved a great sigh of relief. She placed her hands onto the table and laid her head to rest on her arms for a moment. Walter kept his hand on her shoulder and let it linger until he rose from his place. Walter placed his chair back on the other side of the table and slowly settled himself into his place. Marian raised her head. Her face was no longer stained with tears and her eyes wandered around her. She lifted the napkin from the table and opened it onto her lap.

“What’s for dinner?” She said cheerfully. Walter was lost for words, staring into Marian’s face. When she finally noticed this, her breath caught in her throat. She had never seen him look at her like that before.


	4. Chapter 4

Marian awoke late into the night, trembling viciously from the cold. The blanket was thin and the board supporting her squealed and moaned under her weight. Her breath formed clouds in front of her face. Her lips were dry and cracking as they shook. She turned over towards the other side of the room. Walter was sitting against the wall. She looked across as a pale, shaking hand extended towards her.

“Marian.” He whispered. “Come here, it’s far too cold.” Marian stared. She slowly moved her feet down towards the ground. Marian stepped towards him. Within minutes, and without knowing their actions, Walter was wrapped within her arms and pressing his face into her neck; her skin being so much warmer than his. Marian gasped. His cheeks were cold; impulsively she released him from her arms and placed her hands onto his face. She stroked his cheeks to warm them. Immediately, she let him resume his place. Walter’s breathing calmed, his trembling waned. Marian pressed him down to the floor and as she adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. She lowered herself. Marian’s arms were fastened around him and her head lay on his chest when in haste, Walter allowed a strong hand to press her body onto his. Marian's thoughts disappeared, overwhelmed momentarily by a trembling she couldn't explain. His breath quickened. She felt his hands stroke her back and trace patterns across her shoulders. The air was so cold it made her throat sore. She tucked her arm around him and placed her hand upon his chest besides her chattering jaw. Walter clutched her curls within his hand and pushed her warm cheek against him. She sighed. Marian moved to glance up at him, if only for a moment to see if he was better. His hand lingered in Marian’s hair and slowly she found her place on his chest and tried to sleep. Searching for comfort in the foreign surroundings she discovered a sound which shattered her senses and lulled her into a deep, peaceful sleep. Marian calmed at the sound of his heartbeat.

 

The morning fog hung in the alley and flowed softly past the window, rising from the ground and merging with the sky. Marian woke, refreshed and anxious to hear Walter’s voice or arise with Walter’s face in her vision as soon as she awoke. But she awoke alone. There was a note left on the blanket. Marian walked to the bed and opened the letter. Walter reminded Marian of her commitment with Lucy. Marian breathed deeply, feeling more alone as she prepared herself for work.

The house was quiet, not a sound from the walls or the floor. There seemed to be no movement. Marian walked slowly toward the stairs. She could hear the soft murmur of the busy street as she reached the foyer of the house. There was a crackle of noise from the living room; the fire stirred itself awake from the embers. A log had been placed in her center. Marian glanced into the room. Her eyes anticipated the sight of a figure in the room, a woman who may have risen early or lingered there during the night. There was no one. Marian stood still, her eyes staring into the small flames. The room was cold. The fire hadn’t the strength to fill the room. Marian approached the fireplace. Her eyes wandered for a moment as her hand fell upon the mantle. The crackling flames spoke words of comfort and warmth, but at the same time their harsh glares and winding, curvaceous dances spoke words of longing and anger. Marian stood in front of the fire and let the warm air embrace her. Marian pushed open the collar of her dress and let the heat wrap around her neck like a warm scarf. The morning air was chilled, but standing next to the fire, felt crisp and smooth. There was a faint tension in the air, a trembling anxiety heightening her senses as her ears became alert for the slightest sound. Just then, the stairway began to creek; the squealing, short sound of footsteps descending the stairs reached her ears. Marian’s eyes left the fire, turning from her stance to view the foyer. It was Lucy

Her smooth face was shadowed by blonde locks falling over her eyes. Marian turned to face her, ready to be instructed. Lucy was shivering, wearing nothing but the stiff, dirty white undergarments with a long red blanket wrapped around her. Marian’s heart ached, but she soon smothered it. She did not want to pity her. Lucy looked up and noticed Marian. She groaned softly and sighed as she approached the fireplace.

“Good Morning.” Marian said softly. Lucy sat down on one of the large divans in front of the fireplace. She sighed heavily as she rested her head on the cushion. Lucy merely glanced towards Marian with lazy, careless eyes.

“I hope I didn’t wake you, I just came down here to get an early start.” Marian remarked, finishing with a nervous laugh. With a slow, but elegant motion, Marian sat down beside her. She kept a safe distance from her, but was well aware of Lucy’s resentment towards her.

“I should advise you to be careful around my girls, some of them will give you trouble if you say anything stupid.” Lucy snickered. “I should have given you hell for walking in here with your high and mighty ways, but I happen to like Walter. He pays good money to stay here; my girls are getting on better. But I assume your work will compensate his room and board and my girls will still have it good or better if you want to be safe. So that means you’re to keep your mouth shut and listen to what my girls tell you.”

Marian took a deep breath and swallowed her anger, letting it creep into her body and multiply like an infection. She hadn’t said a word in her defense, perhaps from the orders given or the fact that Marian was so weary of arguing; tired of the frequent, but miniscule indignities that had been the cause of such vexation.

“Do you understand?’ Lucy said.

“Yes.” Marian nodded. She rose from the couch and faced Lucy. “What must be done?” She said, adding more sharpness to her own voice without complete intention. Lucy could tell Marian’s immediate anger had been suppressed, and had tried to leak out through her voice. Lucy tolled the fingers of her left hand, counting the chores on her fingers.

“Let’s see,” She said, taking up her haughty, false voice. “There’s the washroom ‘round the back, take the girl’s dresses and be sure you wash them well, there’s a hot water cauldron in the kitchen, you’ll have to pump water from across the street, behind the Four Corners, you know.”

“Yes.” Marian replied, slowly feeling the deprecating sensation creep into her fingers, through her heart and down to her toes.

“Well go fetch the dresses and get busy.” Lucy said sharply. Marian nodded and quickly left the room, swiftly turning her back on her without a second glace. She had selfishly forgotten her want to help and instead wished to be helped; to be served and lavished. Marian didn’t realize the seriousness of her commitment. But letting all other thoughts rest she realized it would help Walter. The reason echoed in her ears, constantly reminding her, inspiring her. And it was these thoughts that motivated her, and took away the pain that came to her when she saw the cauldrons empty; without a drop of water to begin her task.

The morning passed with dire, irritable repetition as Marian walked from the front door, across the paved road, to the back of the pub, to the pump. From the creaking floor, to the pebbles whispering, past the laughter, and lastly to the harsh, painful squealing of the pump as the lever rose and fell with her hand. The morning was brisk and the air crept down Marian’s neck as she walked. Her feet became accustomed to the steps; ten steps to the door, twelve through the laughter as she passed the high, open windows of the Four Corners, and another ten steps to get to the pump. Like a song, the sounds kept repeating, but only a different rock or a new laugh would add any variety. The end note brought a recovered breath, a temporary relief when the water sprang from the bucket and splattered into the cauldron. An easy breath of relief sounded, the song ended and after twenty repetitive refrains, Marian sighed; hoping the most difficult task of the day had already passed.

Marian set the last stocking up on the clothesline hanging across the back of the small washroom. The cauldron was nearly empty and the bathtub lined with petticoats and shifts laid over the edges to dry. She looked into the remaining three inches of water left in the cauldron and held back her impulse to retch. With relief she tossed aside the towel she had used to dry her hands and set it on the floor, using her free hands to push back her loose hair and wipe the drop of musky steam from her face. She could imagine herself bathing in the cool, clean brooks back in Limmeridge village, feeling that until she brought herself back to her home rivers, she would never feel clean again. She could still smell fluids on the clothes. And endlessly, she rubbed her hands on the only clean towel she left for herself and held back her breath every time she moved to lift one of the shifts or skirts into the basin. It was far worse than Marian ever assumed, and throughout she chastised herself for volunteering her services; thinking only for a moment that she would rather have let a stranger enjoy her body than have to contend with the filth of others. Though both would leave her soiled forever, she felt sure she could bear the one time rather than repeat the activity of the day; and as her agreement contracted, countless times.

Just then, Marian heard laughter coming into the foyer. The front door opened and what sounded like a group of the women came in from the outside pavement.

“Why is Maggie still outside?” She heard one of the voices state. “Come on Brigit!” It called. The footsteps, some heavier than others, made their way into the parlor. Three quick steps told Marian that the person coming inside rushed in before the others closed the door on her.

“Oh Bella, lay off of her, who cares!” A man’s voice issued. “Come on, get in your robe.” He said softer.

“Let me sit.” The woman responded. “Maggie, keep that one out of my way. Or else let’s give her a lesson.” The first woman said, making the other woman, Maggie, laugh deeply. Marian crossed to the doorway of the washroom.

“What happened to that Cambridge boy you brought last week?” The woman, Bella, said. The heavier foot, which must have belonged to the man, stumbled several times, leading Marian to assume he was drunk.

“Oh!” He laughed loudly. “Ran home to his books, that flimsy fuck!”

Marian gasped, covering her mouth but mesmerized and trapped to the sound of their voices like whistles to a pack of hunting dogs.

“Couldn’t take it, not a man, that puny lout! It was a great joke!” The man took a large intake of breath before breaking out again in laughter and shouting; “I’ll never forget his face!” Two of the women laughed in reply.

“Did Lucy’s baronet call on her again?” The husky voice, which had to belong to Maggie, said. It started in the front of the room than moved across to the fireplace, but the footsteps, which sounded like two people, led Marian to assume the third, the quiet Brigit, was not speaking and was in fact being led across to the opposite side of the room.

“I never want to miss a sight of him.” Maggie continued. “Good looking man and money to boot!”

“Not as handsome as Charley.” Bella retorted, a throaty laugh coming from the man. Accompanied by a rustling of skirts, Marian heard the furniture creak, weight of two or more people being placed on it.

“Get the fire going, you…you” Charley said aggressively. “It’s bloody cold in here! What about you, Maggie? Did you make any last night at the den?”

“No. But I’m going back tonight; I’ve got a regular too, Bella.” Maggie snipped. “Can’t say the same for mousey here.” She chuckled. “Better start earning your room, girl.”

“I don’t know why Lucy doesn’t just toss you out, you’re worthless.” Bella chimed in.

“That’s not true!” A frail voice uttered, sounding as though it came from the far corner, close to the ground. Marian stepped outside of the washroom and approached the left of the stairs, out of view of the parlor, but closer to hear their voices.

“My mother is coming back for me!” Brigit cried.

“So’s mine.” Bella laughed, making Maggie chortle too.

“God help us!” Charley shouted, Marian hearing something in his action making the furniture creak even more and Bella emit a hollow laugh mixed with delight.  

“Watch this.” Bella said, “This is what you need to learn if you want to survive.” As Marian listened, she heard the faint pop of a button hitting the ground, and a deep chuckle sound from the man. Listening closer, she heard Maggie whisper.

“Here we go, don’t show her here, take it upstairs and lock the door, so she can’t get out.”

“Do you see her running away?” Bella said plainly, “She won’t move, not unless you weren’t there to stop her, right?” She continued. Marian began to hear the exchanges of inhales, gasps for breath between what she could only assume as frequent, evasive kisses. Her heart began to pound, and without realizing, she began to tremble. Escaping her own conclusion that the trembling was not a result of fear, Marian set her thoughts on Brigit. What hatred did these women have of her to treat her so? Was she so helpless now?

Without thinking, Marian burst into the parlor in haste, not thinking before she attempted to look over the room to find Brigit. Instead her eyes immediately found Bella and Charley, sitting on the couch. Her legs were straddled in his lap and both his hands were squeezing her thighs and keeping her layers of skirts piled on his forearms. His head was craned onto the back of the couch, and Bella’s hands were pushed under him gripping his buttocks. Marian lost all impulse to speak, and her words were cast out of the window, helpless to stop the blood from rushing to her face at the sight of them.

“Who are you?” Maggie said callously. Seeing her now for the first time, she was a heavy set woman with a thick waist and wrinkled breasts barely covered by the purple dress she wore. She stared at Marian coldly. Before Marian was able to control her words, now dealing with another sensation she hardly expected to feel in this case, but able to connect that the only time she had felt it before was the previous night, when Walter adjusting his weight on the ground, pressed her waist against his body.

“That must be the Hartright girl.” Bella said.

“Who?”

“Walter’s girl. You know, the lad on the third floor.” Bella said, shifting her hips on Charley’s lap, making him groan with pleasure. Marian closed her eyes, hating the throbbing she felt, and feeling that she had seen and smelled enough over the day, having no desire for any visual representation in her sight or her mind. Forcing words out of her mouth to save her skin, Marian said:

“I was going to tell Brigit I found some clothes in her room and I was able to wash them. You have some dresses, clean dresses I mean, waiting for you, in the washroom. They are clean.” Marian finished, putting her hands on her waist and embarrassed at the sound of herself.

“What’s a woman like you doing here? Are you new or something?” Charley addressed Marian, making her sick at the idea of a man addressing her whilst in such a position, never mind the assumption he made in his last statement.

“I’m his sister.” Marian said falteringly, “We’ve had some trouble, and I’ve come to help.” Strength finally returned to her tones.    

“Charley, darling,” Bella said sensuously, putting each of her caramel hands on his waist. “Wait upstairs, you’ve been so patient.” She nipped his ear with her lips and tongue. Marian held firm, closing her eyes, rejecting the impulse to cover her own lips which tingled at the thought of Charley’s substitute. Instead, Marian pinched her waist, the small surge of pain breaking her thoughts. Meanwhile, Brigit had risen from the floor and stood staring into the fireplace. Maggie stared at the two of them, Bella and Marian, like a spectator viewing a street fight. Bella leaned into the couch and allowed Charley to rise from his seat, concealing his maleness with a pillow as he exited the parlor. Marian pinched harder, focusing more on the tears starting in her eyes rather than the hidden sight of his arousal. The momentary sight both disturbed and intrigued Marian. That intrigue, she discovered, shocked her. She hardly believed she had manifested such curiosity herself.

“Walter is a good man.” Bella said, adjusting her skirt and rolling her stocking back up her left leg. Marian’s attentions were pulled, and her heart began to quicken at the mention of his name.

“Yes. He is.” Marian said, deceiving her fortitude to act disinterested.

“Don’t think I’m an idiot.” Bella said quickly. “Not Lucy either. We may not _look_ the same as you, but do not think for a moment that we are not the same.”

“What do you mean by that?” Marian said, her temper rising and her hands dropped from her waist. Out of her immediate sight, Marian noticed Maggie step towards her, seeming ready to pull her away. Bella stood up calmly, pressing down the folds of her dress and quickly setting her hair right.

“You’re a woman too,” She said plainly. “And I don’t believe for a minute your relation to that man. Don’t think you hide anything from us, men perhaps yes, but not us. Who do you think we are?”

“What is your point, tell me plainly!” Marian shouted, feeling a rush of blood to her head that released all of the anger from every pore of her body.

“Go ahead.” Bella said clearly. “You might as well take what you want in this world; God knows we have no other luxury. No upstanding innocent like you claim to be would stand in front of us and say she did not want the same power as we have-

“Power!” Marian laughed, loving the energetic rage filtering through her perspiration. “Power to what, destroy your honor as a woman for a measly fortune?”

Bella, and now Maggie, began to laugh, looking down at Marian like a child upstart in a school room. Bella stepped forward and took Marian’s hand, making Marian pull back the other and move to swing her arm away. Bella, quicker than Marian estimated, blocked both hands and held her wrists. Staring into Marian’s eyes with a calmness rather than belligerence made Marian stop, especially seeing Maggie step closer and look at the two with mediation. Once Marian’s arms slacked, Bella led Marian’s hand to Marian’s own breast, and pressed it there. Surprised by her actions, Marian inhaled quickly and looked back at Bella’s face, puzzled.

“Power to say that ‘I want.’” Bella said slowly. “To say I belong in that world with the ranks of men. If you cannot agree to that, you are a liar.”

Bella dropped Marian’s hand, which once free she set down beside her, busying her fingers with the fabric of her skirt.

_There he stood in the hot Limmeridge sunlight, staring into his painting with a glance of fierce determination. Holding her brush Marian’s hand, trying to make the first line of a tree, faltered and made a long slender line across the canvas when she saw a bead of sweat travel down his neck. She closed her eyes, imagining his hand on her wrist, pushing down her arm from the painting and standing behind her, his other hand searching the folds of her gown. Dropping her brush and instead letting her hand smear across the canvas she reached behind her and held his hair, suddenly breathless._

Barely able to articulate a response, she covered her mouth with one hand and turned away from the women, trying desperately to hide her forthcoming sobs. Marian was perplexed by her body’s reaction, suddenly overwhelmed with a remorse she couldn’t describe. Marian placed her hands on the back of the armchair across from the couch to stable her legs.

“There’s no reason for that.” Bella said, breaking the naked silence. “Get over that, and you’ll be unstoppable.” She said. Marian righted her stance and turned back towards Bella. A looked crossed the two women’s eyes and for a moment, just a moment and nothing more, the two women saw each other as they were

As Bella and Maggie left the parlor, Marian’s breath took control again, only now and then breaking in short, sporadic inhales. Only then, Brigit, who had stood quietly, and invisibly, at the fireplace moved towards Marian. Brigit let her brown eyes set on Marian’s face, looking as though she had thought at last of something to say; especially now that her repressors had departed. Marian held her breath.

“Thank you for washing my dresses. You can keep them though. I don’t want them anymore.” Brigit then moved hastily away from Marian towards the door, leaving Marian alone. Marian put her hand back across her waist as she stared towards the failing fire. It was weakly glowing around the edge of the flames, but the red core of the log still burned strong. Before finding composure to return to the washroom, Marian crossed towards the fireplace, lifted the poker from the hook and with one solid prod, broke the log in two. The log fell into the embers in pieces, and glowed brighter for the first moments before sputtering into a fractured death.

 

Marian walked back from the Four Corners with an extra bucket of water for herself. She took it upstairs without pause for rest until she reached the door to their room. Hauling the weight to the small table on the right wall, she then poured water from the pitcher into the bowl. Marian rolled up the sleeves of her dress. She removed the pins which held up her hair and let it fall down her back. She caught the water in her hands and splashed her face, making the water drip down her wrists and neck. She lowered her face closer to the water and filled her palms with water before pressing her hands into her cheeks. She slowly smoothed back her hair and sighed. Marian lifted the cloth from beside the basin and dried her face and neck. Lastly, she placed the dry cloth into the cool water and with both hands, unbuttoned the only six buttons left till the bodice came to the waist. Taking the wet cloth out of the water, she wrung out the bulk of it before pressing it against her neck. Slowly, and with eyes cast down to the small cobweb in the corner, she let the wet cloth fall across her chest, drops falling between her breasts causing bumps to rise on her arms. Her eyes then turned to the chair in the corner. There folded in neat pile were Brigit’s dresses. Marian walked over and selected the heaviest, a blue and red cotton plaid gown, to wear. She pressed the gown against her cheek, feeling the thickness and warmth the dress would bring her. Marian slid her gown off of her shoulders. Momentarily she shivered, letting the cold air pass over her arms and her chest. She pulled the dress over her head and felt the warmth as if a humid breeze passed over her. She held the gown in place, which was too small across her bosom and twirled to see its length. It was just the right length, barely touching the toes of her boots. She stared at the reflection of the buttons, and looking at the other dresses, which closed in various other orders, and decided that of the lot of four, she could only plausibly wear the one she had. Her old dress was broken open too, so the slight exposure, be it on her back or chest, was no longer a shock to Marian. In its place, Marian turned in place and walked towards the bed. As she reached down for the brown blanket to drape over her shoulder, unable to button the dress herself, she heard a creak in the floor. Just then, she noticed Walter standing in the doorway. She was momentarily startled, then her expression calmed and her hands rested across her waist.

“You’re home.” She said gently. Walter smiled at Marian and put down his portfolio, and seemed to hold back a short chuckle at the greeting. Marian could finish his thought, _how can this be home?_

“Have you had success in any of your appointments?” Marian said, brushing down her skirt.

“That’s a new dress.” He said, looking at it. Marian’s hand went to a lock of hair that had wandered to the front of her left shoulder. Marian smiled to Walter as she nodded.

“It belonged to the young one, Brigit, the refuge Lucy is keeping. Tell me, tell me of your day.”

“I assure you, Marian, it was not as exciting- I mean as you make it sound. Here let me” Walter stuttered. His speech was broken and altogether abandoned as he tugged the blanket from her shoulders. Marian tried to catch it, but in vain before Walter positioned her in front of him, facing the wall. One by one he attempted to fasten the buttons, each time Marian holding her breath until the pairs matched. Taking a breath, he continued: “I bought the canvas for your painting, it wasn’t much so I still have some pounds left for dinner tonight if you’d like. And there’s something else.” Walter said, looking more confident of his words. “I went to see Mr. Kyrle.”

Marian turned to Walter and put her hand on his arm. Without saying a word, her eyes implored him to continue.

“I told him everything, all of our suspicions, your proof that you’ve written. I wish you had kept your diary on you, or perhaps we would not have been so helpless.”

“No, Walter, my locking it under my bed was the best I could have done. Think where we would be if it had been stolen with everything else I had coming here?” Marian said, her other hand coming to meet his shoulder. “We don’t have to worry about that now, what exactly did he say?” She said gently. Walter dropped her hands and sat on the bed.

“He told me that we have not the shadow of a case, we have to have hard evidence if we ever hope to put those men to trial justly. A weak point, something, but we have no leverage with either of those men. Nothing.”

“We have Anne Catherick’s secret to look towards. We must find out what asylum she is held and question her. But God,” Marian’s voice broke, her hands going to her face in frustration. “The Count is in possession of her certificate!”

“Exactly.” Walter said, rising. He stepped forward and took Marian’s hands from her face. Marian’s eyes met his, looking into a precipice of doubt and helplessness.

“When we have raised and saved enough money, I will do what I can; pay what I must, to get the location of that man. But until then…”

“Yes.” Marian said, keeping her gaze on his face. A troubled look crossed Walter’s face. He almost spoke before Marian closed her eyes. “I will keep my part of the deal, do not worry about me. What we save is important, but your earnings will be our only hope.”

“And your painting,” Walter said, hope returning to his voice. “That we have to commit to, should we try to start it tomorrow?”

“If the weather is well,” Marian said firmly. “I have my conditions.” She laughed. Walter’s face brightened.

“I told you I had enough for tonight, let’s go. We can talk more, and you deserve a good meal for your pains, whenever I can provide it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A knock came to the Count’s door. Marian’s hands gripped the arm on the chair, looking towards the door with trepidation.

“That would be our tea.” The Count said calmly, moving up from his seat by the window. He brushed the crumbs off of his black waistcoat and placed his empty glass of water onto the table. As he passed Marian on the chair, he allowed one of his fingers to discreetly, and quickly, brush the back of her hair. Marian’s eyes locked with his a moment, and raising her eyebrows, she put her hand atop the pistol. The Count’s hand withdrew. He faced her a moment and opened up his arms, almost in a grand bow. Marian, for the first time, found amusement in the scenario and let a miniscule chuckle escape her lips. But as soon as it passed her tongue, she blinked and closed it up, placing the pistol from the table back into her lap, hiding it under her coat as the servant entered the suite.

“Thank you.” The Count said, letting the servant pass before he closed the door, which squealed again. Marian, on instinct, pushed aside some of the plates of pastry, now with one or two missing from the display, to accommodate the service. As the servant was turning to leave, Marian lifted the coat from her lap and rose.

“A moment, young man.” She addressed the servant. The Count, who at that moment was fixing his hair in front of the mirror, paused and turned around. Marian placed her coat on her chair, took a napkin from the table and looked around her. She saw into the open doorway on the right of the room where Fosco’s chamber lay. On the far wall, she caught sight of the desk and dashed into the room. Taking pen in hand, she returned. The Count stepped forward.

“Miss Halcombe- pardon me, Mrs. Gabriel, what is this?” The Count came beside the young servant, who all the while stood uncomfortably.

“I am leaving word with my husband.” She said calmly, setting down the napkin on the table and writing onto it, blots hitting the tablecloth and leaving spots. “Only to say that I am fine and to take no action.”

“He must stay in the hotel, Marian.” The Count said firmly. “I am not fool enough to keep you alone without my counter attack.”

Marian folded the small napkin in half and moved to place it in the servant’s hands. As it met the servant’s hands, The Count held the young man’s wrist and immediately, it fell from his grasp. Marian stood still, making no immediate action to shield her words from him. The servant’s eyes dropped from the Count, a hue of whiteness passing over his face the Count could only see as a young, naïve boy’s interpretation of an affair being courted before his eyes in the broad late morning daylight. Without speaking, the young servant stared at the Count a moment before taking off on his legs and as courteously as possible, exit the suite. Marian huffed, and in defeat took back the napkin from the Count.

“It only said that I will be here as long as you require, and to send word to Mrs. Scotts to set the table for the children.” Marian said, feeling a mild sense of delight at making the Count’s own suspicions superfluous. He relished in the curve of her lips that exposed her thought. Calmly Marian crossed back to the table and lifted one of the cannollis from the plate. She took a bite and quickly, licked the flickers of cream from her lips. All the talk of poor meals, of hungry mornings, must have at last roused her appetite, the Count surmised.

“He could provide when he could.” The Count scoffed. “And you were reduced to picking up after prostitutes.” He said, still absorbed in his surprise. “If I did not have some hesitation about your confidence with a pistol, I would begin to tell you how much I admire you.”

“Your admiration does not threaten me, Count.” Marian said her tone at last comfortable, licking another speck of cream on her finger. Indeed, she had, in the last quarter to an hour of her recollections, allowed him to speak or question. The Count knew her recollection meant more to her than merely a temporary means of safety.

“However, act upon it, and the game changes.”

“Of course,” The Count said, coming back to the table and gesturing to the empty teacup. “Will you?”

“In a while, I am fine now.” Marian replied. “Though in these circumstances I can hardly imagine finding calm.”

“The world works in mysterious ways, Marian, does it not?” The Count said jovially as he fluffed his pillows on his seat. One of the words she had spoken stuck clearly in his mind: _game_. He smiled broadly, enjoying himself immensely in the new competition.

“You spoke of your chores yes, but the women never gave you any trouble?” The Count turned from where he had stood with the pillows, and crossed to the table to serve his tea. After a pause, Marian replied:

“No, no trouble, a few words here and there, but nothing serious.” Marian continued.       “Things remained very much in that pattern, he would go to his clients and different galleries, I would stay and maintain the house. It was only at its worse when we didn’t make enough, and had we decided to eat we would be penniless. After about two weeks,we were both ill and the two of us weren’t getting on very well. It didn’t help that in that third week, winter decided to come back.”

“How did you survive than?”

“If you had lived as I had, Count, you would find nothing depraved in a man and a woman sharing a bed merely to keep each other alive, would you?”

The Count paused, again he was momentarily taken aback. He looked at Marian’s face, trying to choose his words carefully else he should anger her and end her recollection.

“If I were in such a position,” The Count paused. “I would think nothing of it.”

Marian let a small grin of satisfaction brighten her expression.

“However, if it was with someone I wanted, I should find it terribly difficult not to act on my desires.”

The smile escaped Marian’s lips, and the next moment, she broke her gaze from him and reached across to the teapot. A long silver line of steam came out from the spout and curled into the air. Remaining silent, she gracefully served herself a cup, and returned to her seat as she dropped a cube of sugar into her cup. On sitting, she felt her pistol against her leg, and rising quickly, realizing she had left her coat on the chair. Setting her cup and saucer down, she rearranged the folds of her coat and placed the pistol back onto the table, next to her spoon. Once again the Count saw the glimmer of the pistol set against the blue and red floral of her coat and sighed from the sight, thinking that a pistol, one of the most effective but unattractive of weapons he had wielded in his time, had never looked so beautiful outside of Marian’s hands. Seeing that Marian intended not to answer, the Count changed the subject:

“On another note,” The Count said as he placed his weight back onto the seat. “I believe it was around half through May that I received a letter of distress from my lamented friend.”

“From Percival?” Marian said assuredly, never even taking mind to his title.

“Yes. It was a letter saying that your uncle had consented to the June first deadline to take the estate, and that his solicitor, Mr. Merriman, had spotted you and Mr. Hartright in a pub on the South bank.”

Marian’s eyes met with the Count’s.

“It _was_ him.” She said softly.

“I did not want to interrupt, but yes, you had mentioned a familiar man, and I knew right away it had to have been Sir Percival’s solicitor. After that, his letter also stated he was coming to London to gamble, the only way to earn money until the estate passed. So we were reunited in London and I began to make my plans to leave the country, with intent to leave on the fourth of June, allowing those few days for the money to pass through.”

“My goodness,” Marian laughed. Focusing her sight on the cup in front of her, she began to count on her hands, until she reached six. “What a slight margin of time, but what felt like a lifetime.”

“From what?” The Count replied.

“From the night I left your house till that night at Limmeridge. Any sooner or any later and we would have missed him indefinitely. I suppose I have myself to thank for that addition of time.”

“In what way?”

“Everything changed. I decided to stop waiting.”


	5. Chapter 5

Marian awoke late into the night, trembling viciously from the cold. The blanket was thin and the board supporting her squealed and moaned under her weight. Her breath formed clouds in front of her face. Her lips were dry and cracking as they shook. She turned over towards the other side of the room. Walter was sitting against the wall. She looked across as a pale, shaking hand extended towards her.

“Marian.” He whispered. “Come here, it’s far too cold.” Marian stared. She slowly moved her feet down towards the ground. Marian stepped towards him. Within minutes, and without knowing their actions, Walter was wrapped within her arms and pressing his face into her neck; her skin being so much warmer than his. Marian gasped. His cheeks were cold; impulsively she released him from her arms and placed her hands onto his face. She stroked his cheeks to warm them. Immediately, she let him resume his place. Walter’s breathing calmed, his trembling waned. Marian pressed him down to the floor and as she adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. She lowered herself. Marian’s arms were fastened around him and her head lay on his chest when in haste, Walter allowed a strong hand to press her body onto his. Marian's thoughts disappeared, overwhelmed momentarily by a trembling she couldn't explain. His breath quickened. She felt his hands stroke her back and trace patterns across her shoulders. The air was so cold it made her throat sore. She tucked her arm around him and placed her hand upon his chest besides her chattering jaw. Walter clutched her curls within his hand and pushed her warm cheek against him. She sighed. Marian moved to glance up at him, if only for a moment to see if he was better. His hand lingered in Marian’s hair and slowly she found her place on his chest and tried to sleep. Searching for comfort in the foreign surroundings she discovered a sound which shattered her senses and lulled her into a deep, peaceful sleep. Marian calmed at the sound of his heartbeat.

 

The morning fog hung in the alley and flowed softly past the window, rising from the ground and merging with the sky. Marian woke, refreshed and anxious to hear Walter’s voice or arise with Walter’s face in her vision as soon as she awoke. But she awoke alone. There was a note left on the blanket. Marian walked to the bed and opened the letter. Walter reminded Marian of her commitment with Lucy. Marian breathed deeply, feeling more alone as she prepared herself for work.

The house was quiet, not a sound from the walls or the floor. There seemed to be no movement. Marian walked slowly toward the stairs. She could hear the soft murmur of the busy street as she reached the foyer of the house. There was a crackle of noise from the living room; the fire stirred itself awake from the embers. A log had been placed in her center. Marian glanced into the room. Her eyes anticipated the sight of a figure in the room, a woman who may have risen early or lingered there during the night. There was no one. Marian stood still, her eyes staring into the small flames. The room was cold. The fire hadn’t the strength to fill the room. Marian approached the fireplace. Her eyes wandered for a moment as her hand fell upon the mantle. The crackling flames spoke words of comfort and warmth, but at the same time their harsh glares and winding, curvaceous dances spoke words of longing and anger. Marian stood in front of the fire and let the warm air embrace her. Marian pushed open the collar of her dress and let the heat wrap around her neck like a warm scarf. The morning air was chilled, but standing next to the fire, felt crisp and smooth. There was a faint tension in the air, a trembling anxiety heightening her senses as her ears became alert for the slightest sound. Just then, the stairway began to creek; the squealing, short sound of footsteps descending the stairs reached her ears. Marian’s eyes left the fire, turning from her stance to view the foyer. It was Lucy

Her smooth face was shadowed by blonde locks falling over her eyes. Marian turned to face her, ready to be instructed. Lucy was shivering, wearing nothing but the stiff, dirty white undergarments with a long red blanket wrapped around her. Marian’s heart ached, but she soon smothered it. She did not want to pity her. Lucy looked up and noticed Marian. She groaned softly and sighed as she approached the fireplace.

“Good Morning.” Marian said softly. Lucy sat down on one of the large divans in front of the fireplace. She sighed heavily as she rested her head on the cushion. Lucy merely glanced towards Marian with lazy, careless eyes.

“I hope I didn’t wake you, I just came down here to get an early start.” Marian remarked, finishing with a nervous laugh. With a slow, but elegant motion, Marian sat down beside her. She kept a safe distance from her, but was well aware of Lucy’s resentment towards her.

“I should advise you to be careful around my girls, some of them will give you trouble if you say anything stupid.” Lucy snickered. “I should have given you hell for walking in here with your high and mighty ways, but I happen to like Walter. He pays good money to stay here; my girls are getting on better. But I assume your work will compensate his room and board and my girls will still have it good or better if you want to be safe. So that means you’re to keep your mouth shut and listen to what my girls tell you.”

Marian took a deep breath and swallowed her anger, letting it creep into her body and multiply like an infection. She hadn’t said a word in her defense, perhaps from the orders given or the fact that Marian was so weary of arguing; tired of the frequent, but miniscule indignities that had been the cause of such vexation.

“Do you understand?’ Lucy said.

“Yes.” Marian nodded. She rose from the couch and faced Lucy. “What must be done?” She said, adding more sharpness to her own voice without complete intention. Lucy could tell Marian’s immediate anger had been suppressed, and had tried to leak out through her voice. Lucy tolled the fingers of her left hand, counting the chores on her fingers.

“Let’s see,” She said, taking up her haughty, false voice. “There’s the washroom ‘round the back, take the girl’s dresses and be sure you wash them well, there’s a hot water cauldron in the kitchen, you’ll have to pump water from across the street, behind the Four Corners, you know.”

“Yes.” Marian replied, slowly feeling the deprecating sensation creep into her fingers, through her heart and down to her toes.

“Well go fetch the dresses and get busy.” Lucy said sharply. Marian nodded and quickly left the room, swiftly turning her back on her without a second glace. She had selfishly forgotten her want to help and instead wished to be helped; to be served and lavished. Marian didn’t realize the seriousness of her commitment. But letting all other thoughts rest she realized it would help Walter. The reason echoed in her ears, constantly reminding her, inspiring her. And it was these thoughts that motivated her, and took away the pain that came to her when she saw the cauldrons empty; without a drop of water to begin her task.

The morning passed with dire, irritable repetition as Marian walked from the front door, across the paved road, to the back of the pub, to the pump. From the creaking floor, to the pebbles whispering, past the laughter, and lastly to the harsh, painful squealing of the pump as the lever rose and fell with her hand. The morning was brisk and the air crept down Marian’s neck as she walked. Her feet became accustomed to the steps; ten steps to the door, twelve through the laughter as she passed the high, open windows of the Four Corners, and another ten steps to get to the pump. Like a song, the sounds kept repeating, but only a different rock or a new laugh would add any variety. The end note brought a recovered breath, a temporary relief when the water sprang from the bucket and splattered into the cauldron. An easy breath of relief sounded, the song ended and after twenty repetitive refrains, Marian sighed; hoping the most difficult task of the day had already passed.

Marian set the last stocking up on the clothesline hanging across the back of the small washroom. The cauldron was nearly empty and the bathtub lined with petticoats and shifts laid over the edges to dry. She looked into the remaining three inches of water left in the cauldron and held back her impulse to retch. With relief she tossed aside the towel she had used to dry her hands and set it on the floor, using her free hands to push back her loose hair and wipe the drop of musky steam from her face. She could imagine herself bathing in the cool, clean brooks back in Limmeridge village, feeling that until she brought herself back to her home rivers, she would never feel clean again. She could still smell fluids on the clothes. And endlessly, she rubbed her hands on the only clean towel she left for herself and held back her breath every time she moved to lift one of the shifts or skirts into the basin. It was far worse than Marian ever assumed, and throughout she chastised herself for volunteering her services; thinking only for a moment that she would rather have let a stranger enjoy her body than have to contend with the filth of others. Though both would leave her soiled forever, she felt sure she could bear the one time rather than repeat the activity of the day; and as her agreement contracted, countless times.

Just then, Marian heard laughter coming into the foyer. The front door opened and what sounded like a group of the women came in from the outside pavement.

“Why is Maggie still outside?” She heard one of the voices state. “Come on Brigit!” It called. The footsteps, some heavier than others, made their way into the parlor. Three quick steps told Marian that the person coming inside rushed in before the others closed the door on her.

“Oh Bella, lay off of her, who cares!” A man’s voice issued. “Come on, get in your robe.” He said softer.

“Let me sit.” The woman responded. “Maggie, keep that one out of my way. Or else let’s give her a lesson.” The first woman said, making the other woman, Maggie, laugh deeply. Marian crossed to the doorway of the washroom.

“What happened to that Cambridge boy you brought last week?” The woman, Bella, said. The heavier foot, which must have belonged to the man, stumbled several times, leading Marian to assume he was drunk.

“Oh!” He laughed loudly. “Ran home to his books, that flimsy fuck!”

Marian gasped, covering her mouth but mesmerized and trapped to the sound of their voices like whistles to a pack of hunting dogs.

“Couldn’t take it, not a man, that puny lout! It was a great joke!” The man took a large intake of breath before breaking out again in laughter and shouting; “I’ll never forget his face!” Two of the women laughed in reply.

“Did Lucy’s baronet call on her again?” The husky voice, which had to belong to Maggie, said. It started in the front of the room than moved across to the fireplace, but the footsteps, which sounded like two people, led Marian to assume the third, the quiet Brigit, was not speaking and was in fact being led across to the opposite side of the room.

“I never want to miss a sight of him.” Maggie continued. “Good looking man and money to boot!”

“Not as handsome as Charley.” Bella retorted, a throaty laugh coming from the man. Accompanied by a rustling of skirts, Marian heard the furniture creak, weight of two or more people being placed on it.

“Get the fire going, you…you” Charley said aggressively. “It’s bloody cold in here! What about you, Maggie? Did you make any last night at the den?”

“No. But I’m going back tonight; I’ve got a regular too, Bella.” Maggie snipped. “Can’t say the same for mousey here.” She chuckled. “Better start earning your room, girl.”

“I don’t know why Lucy doesn’t just toss you out, you’re worthless.” Bella chimed in.

“That’s not true!” A frail voice uttered, sounding as though it came from the far corner, close to the ground. Marian stepped outside of the washroom and approached the left of the stairs, out of view of the parlor, but closer to hear their voices.

“My mother is coming back for me!” Brigit cried.

“So’s mine.” Bella laughed, making Maggie chortle too.

“God help us!” Charley shouted, Marian hearing something in his action making the furniture creak even more and Bella emit a hollow laugh mixed with delight.  

“Watch this.” Bella said, “This is what you need to learn if you want to survive.” As Marian listened, she heard the faint pop of a button hitting the ground, and a deep chuckle sound from the man. Listening closer, she heard Maggie whisper.

“Here we go, don’t show her here, take it upstairs and lock the door, so she can’t get out.”

“Do you see her running away?” Bella said plainly, “She won’t move, not unless you weren’t there to stop her, right?” She continued. Marian began to hear the exchanges of inhales, gasps for breath between what she could only assume as frequent, evasive kisses. Her heart began to pound, and without realizing, she began to tremble. Escaping her own conclusion that the trembling was not a result of fear, Marian set her thoughts on Brigit. What hatred did these women have of her to treat her so? Was she so helpless now?

Without thinking, Marian burst into the parlor in haste, not thinking before she attempted to look over the room to find Brigit. Instead her eyes immediately found Bella and Charley, sitting on the couch. Her legs were straddled in his lap and both his hands were squeezing her thighs and keeping her layers of skirts piled on his forearms. His head was craned onto the back of the couch, and Bella’s hands were pushed under him gripping his buttocks. Marian lost all impulse to speak, and her words were cast out of the window, helpless to stop the blood from rushing to her face at the sight of them.

“Who are you?” Maggie said callously. Seeing her now for the first time, she was a heavy set woman with a thick waist and wrinkled breasts barely covered by the purple dress she wore. She stared at Marian coldly. Before Marian was able to control her words, now dealing with another sensation she hardly expected to feel in this case, but able to connect that the only time she had felt it before was the previous night, when Walter adjusting his weight on the ground, pressed her waist against his body.

“That must be the Hartright girl.” Bella said.

“Who?”

“Walter’s girl. You know, the lad on the third floor.” Bella said, shifting her hips on Charley’s lap, making him groan with pleasure. Marian closed her eyes, hating the throbbing she felt, and feeling that she had seen and smelled enough over the day, having no desire for any visual representation in her sight or her mind. Forcing words out of her mouth to save her skin, Marian said:

“I was going to tell Brigit I found some clothes in her room and I was able to wash them. You have some dresses, clean dresses I mean, waiting for you, in the washroom. They are clean.” Marian finished, putting her hands on her waist and embarrassed at the sound of herself.

“What’s a woman like you doing here? Are you new or something?” Charley addressed Marian, making her sick at the idea of a man addressing her whilst in such a position, never mind the assumption he made in his last statement.

“I’m his sister.” Marian said falteringly, “We’ve had some trouble, and I’ve come to help.” Strength finally returned to her tones.    

“Charley, darling,” Bella said sensuously, putting each of her caramel hands on his waist. “Wait upstairs, you’ve been so patient.” She nipped his ear with her lips and tongue. Marian held firm, closing her eyes, rejecting the impulse to cover her own lips which tingled at the thought of Charley’s substitute. Instead, Marian pinched her waist, the small surge of pain breaking her thoughts. Meanwhile, Brigit had risen from the floor and stood staring into the fireplace. Maggie stared at the two of them, Bella and Marian, like a spectator viewing a street fight. Bella leaned into the couch and allowed Charley to rise from his seat, concealing his maleness with a pillow as he exited the parlor. Marian pinched harder, focusing more on the tears starting in her eyes rather than the hidden sight of his arousal. The momentary sight both disturbed and intrigued Marian. That intrigue, she discovered, shocked her. She hardly believed she had manifested such curiosity herself.

“Walter is a good man.” Bella said, adjusting her skirt and rolling her stocking back up her left leg. Marian’s attentions were pulled, and her heart began to quicken at the mention of his name.

“Yes. He is.” Marian said, deceiving her fortitude to act disinterested.

“Don’t think I’m an idiot.” Bella said quickly. “Not Lucy either. We may not _look_ the same as you, but do not think for a moment that we are not the same.”

“What do you mean by that?” Marian said, her temper rising and her hands dropped from her waist. Out of her immediate sight, Marian noticed Maggie step towards her, seeming ready to pull her away. Bella stood up calmly, pressing down the folds of her dress and quickly setting her hair right.

“You’re a woman too,” She said plainly. “And I don’t believe for a minute your relation to that man. Don’t think you hide anything from us, men perhaps yes, but not us. Who do you think we are?”

“What is your point, tell me plainly!” Marian shouted, feeling a rush of blood to her head that released all of the anger from every pore of her body.

“Go ahead.” Bella said clearly. “You might as well take what you want in this world; God knows we have no other luxury. No upstanding innocent like you claim to be would stand in front of us and say she did not want the same power as we have-

“Power!” Marian laughed, loving the energetic rage filtering through her perspiration. “Power to what, destroy your honor as a woman for a measly fortune?”

Bella, and now Maggie, began to laugh, looking down at Marian like a child upstart in a school room. Bella stepped forward and took Marian’s hand, making Marian pull back the other and move to swing her arm away. Bella, quicker than Marian estimated, blocked both hands and held her wrists. Staring into Marian’s eyes with a calmness rather than belligerence made Marian stop, especially seeing Maggie step closer and look at the two with mediation. Once Marian’s arms slacked, Bella led Marian’s hand to Marian’s own breast, and pressed it there. Surprised by her actions, Marian inhaled quickly and looked back at Bella’s face, puzzled.

“Power to say that ‘I want.’” Bella said slowly. “To say I belong in that world with the ranks of men. If you cannot agree to that, you are a liar.”

Bella dropped Marian’s hand, which once free she set down beside her, busying her fingers with the fabric of her skirt.

_There he stood in the hot Limmeridge sunlight, staring into his painting with a glance of fierce determination. Holding her brush Marian’s hand, trying to make the first line of a tree, faltered and made a long slender line across the canvas when she saw a bead of sweat travel down his neck. She closed her eyes, imagining his hand on her wrist, pushing down her arm from the painting and standing behind her, his other hand searching the folds of her gown. Dropping her brush and instead letting her hand smear across the canvas she reached behind her and held his hair, suddenly breathless._

Barely able to articulate a response, she covered her mouth with one hand and turned away from the women, trying desperately to hide her forthcoming sobs. Marian was perplexed by her body’s reaction, suddenly overwhelmed with a remorse she couldn’t describe. Marian placed her hands on the back of the armchair across from the couch to stable her legs.

“There’s no reason for that.” Bella said, breaking the naked silence. “Get over that, and you’ll be unstoppable.” She said. Marian righted her stance and turned back towards Bella. A looked crossed the two women’s eyes and for a moment, just a moment and nothing more, the two women saw each other as they were

As Bella and Maggie left the parlor, Marian’s breath took control again, only now and then breaking in short, sporadic inhales. Only then, Brigit, who had stood quietly, and invisibly, at the fireplace moved towards Marian. Brigit let her brown eyes set on Marian’s face, looking as though she had thought at last of something to say; especially now that her repressors had departed. Marian held her breath.

“Thank you for washing my dresses. You can keep them though. I don’t want them anymore.” Brigit then moved hastily away from Marian towards the door, leaving Marian alone. Marian put her hand back across her waist as she stared towards the failing fire. It was weakly glowing around the edge of the flames, but the red core of the log still burned strong. Before finding composure to return to the washroom, Marian crossed towards the fireplace, lifted the poker from the hook and with one solid prod, broke the log in two. The log fell into the embers in pieces, and glowed brighter for the first moments before sputtering into a fractured death.

 

Marian walked back from the Four Corners with an extra bucket of water for herself. She took it upstairs without pause for rest until she reached the door to their room. Hauling the weight to the small table on the right wall, she then poured water from the pitcher into the bowl. Marian rolled up the sleeves of her dress. She removed the pins which held up her hair and let it fall down her back. She caught the water in her hands and splashed her face, making the water drip down her wrists and neck. She lowered her face closer to the water and filled her palms with water before pressing her hands into her cheeks. She slowly smoothed back her hair and sighed. Marian lifted the cloth from beside the basin and dried her face and neck. Lastly, she placed the dry cloth into the cool water and with both hands, unbuttoned the only six buttons left till the bodice came to the waist. Taking the wet cloth out of the water, she wrung out the bulk of it before pressing it against her neck. Slowly, and with eyes cast down to the small cobweb in the corner, she let the wet cloth fall across her chest, drops falling between her breasts causing bumps to rise on her arms. Her eyes then turned to the chair in the corner. There folded in neat pile were Brigit’s dresses. Marian walked over and selected the heaviest, a blue and red cotton plaid gown, to wear. She pressed the gown against her cheek, feeling the thickness and warmth the dress would bring her. Marian slid her gown off of her shoulders. Momentarily she shivered, letting the cold air pass over her arms and her chest. She pulled the dress over her head and felt the warmth as if a humid breeze passed over her. She held the gown in place, which was too small across her bosom and twirled to see its length. It was just the right length, barely touching the toes of her boots. She stared at the reflection of the buttons, and looking at the other dresses, which closed in various other orders, and decided that of the lot of four, she could only plausibly wear the one she had. Her old dress was broken open too, so the slight exposure, be it on her back or chest, was no longer a shock to Marian. In its place, Marian turned in place and walked towards the bed. As she reached down for the brown blanket to drape over her shoulder, unable to button the dress herself, she heard a creak in the floor. Just then, she noticed Walter standing in the doorway. She was momentarily startled, then her expression calmed and her hands rested across her waist.

“You’re home.” She said gently. Walter smiled at Marian and put down his portfolio, and seemed to hold back a short chuckle at the greeting. Marian could finish his thought, _how can this be home?_

“Have you had success in any of your appointments?” Marian said, brushing down her skirt.

“That’s a new dress.” He said, looking at it. Marian’s hand went to a lock of hair that had wandered to the front of her left shoulder. Marian smiled to Walter as she nodded.

“It belonged to the young one, Brigit, the refuge Lucy is keeping. Tell me, tell me of your day.”

“I assure you, Marian, it was not as exciting- I mean as you make it sound. Here let me” Walter stuttered. His speech was broken and altogether abandoned as he tugged the blanket from her shoulders. Marian tried to catch it, but in vain before Walter positioned her in front of him, facing the wall. One by one he attempted to fasten the buttons, each time Marian holding her breath until the pairs matched. Taking a breath, he continued: “I bought the canvas for your painting, it wasn’t much so I still have some pounds left for dinner tonight if you’d like. And there’s something else.” Walter said, looking more confident of his words. “I went to see Mr. Kyrle.”

Marian turned to Walter and put her hand on his arm. Without saying a word, her eyes implored him to continue.

“I told him everything, all of our suspicions, your proof that you’ve written. I wish you had kept your diary on you, or perhaps we would not have been so helpless.”

“No, Walter, my locking it under my bed was the best I could have done. Think where we would be if it had been stolen with everything else I had coming here?” Marian said, her other hand coming to meet his shoulder. “We don’t have to worry about that now, what exactly did he say?” She said gently. Walter dropped her hands and sat on the bed.

“He told me that we have not the shadow of a case, we have to have hard evidence if we ever hope to put those men to trial justly. A weak point, something, but we have no leverage with either of those men. Nothing.”

“We have Anne Catherick’s secret to look towards. We must find out what asylum she is held and question her. But God,” Marian’s voice broke, her hands going to her face in frustration. “The Count is in possession of her certificate!”

“Exactly.” Walter said, rising. He stepped forward and took Marian’s hands from her face. Marian’s eyes met his, looking into a precipice of doubt and helplessness.

“When we have raised and saved enough money, I will do what I can; pay what I must, to get the location of that man. But until then…”

“Yes.” Marian said, keeping her gaze on his face. A troubled look crossed Walter’s face. He almost spoke before Marian closed her eyes. “I will keep my part of the deal, do not worry about me. What we save is important, but your earnings will be our only hope.”

“And your painting,” Walter said, hope returning to his voice. “That we have to commit to, should we try to start it tomorrow?”

“If the weather is well,” Marian said firmly. “I have my conditions.” She laughed. Walter’s face brightened.

“I told you I had enough for tonight, let’s go. We can talk more, and you deserve a good meal for your pains, whenever I can provide it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A knock came to the Count’s door. Marian’s hands gripped the arm on the chair, looking towards the door with trepidation.

“That would be our tea.” The Count said calmly, moving up from his seat by the window. He brushed the crumbs off of his black waistcoat and placed his empty glass of water onto the table. As he passed Marian on the chair, he allowed one of his fingers to discreetly, and quickly, brush the back of her hair. Marian’s eyes locked with his a moment, and raising her eyebrows, she put her hand atop the pistol. The Count’s hand withdrew. He faced her a moment and opened up his arms, almost in a grand bow. Marian, for the first time, found amusement in the scenario and let a miniscule chuckle escape her lips. But as soon as it passed her tongue, she blinked and closed it up, placing the pistol from the table back into her lap, hiding it under her coat as the servant entered the suite.

“Thank you.” The Count said, letting the servant pass before he closed the door, which squealed again. Marian, on instinct, pushed aside some of the plates of pastry, now with one or two missing from the display, to accommodate the service. As the servant was turning to leave, Marian lifted the coat from her lap and rose.

“A moment, young man.” She addressed the servant. The Count, who at that moment was fixing his hair in front of the mirror, paused and turned around. Marian placed her coat on her chair, took a napkin from the table and looked around her. She saw into the open doorway on the right of the room where Fosco’s chamber lay. On the far wall, she caught sight of the desk and dashed into the room. Taking pen in hand, she returned. The Count stepped forward.

“Miss Halcombe- pardon me, Mrs. Gabriel, what is this?” The Count came beside the young servant, who all the while stood uncomfortably.

“I am leaving word with my husband.” She said calmly, setting down the napkin on the table and writing onto it, blots hitting the tablecloth and leaving spots. “Only to say that I am fine and to take no action.”

“He must stay in the hotel, Marian.” The Count said firmly. “I am not fool enough to keep you alone without my counter attack.”

Marian folded the small napkin in half and moved to place it in the servant’s hands. As it met the servant’s hands, The Count held the young man’s wrist and immediately, it fell from his grasp. Marian stood still, making no immediate action to shield her words from him. The servant’s eyes dropped from the Count, a hue of whiteness passing over his face the Count could only see as a young, naïve boy’s interpretation of an affair being courted before his eyes in the broad late morning daylight. Without speaking, the young servant stared at the Count a moment before taking off on his legs and as courteously as possible, exit the suite. Marian huffed, and in defeat took back the napkin from the Count.

“It only said that I will be here as long as you require, and to send word to Mrs. Scotts to set the table for the children.” Marian said, feeling a mild sense of delight at making the Count’s own suspicions superfluous. He relished in the curve of her lips that exposed her thought. Calmly Marian crossed back to the table and lifted one of the cannollis from the plate. She took a bite and quickly, licked the flickers of cream from her lips. All the talk of poor meals, of hungry mornings, must have at last roused her appetite, the Count surmised.

“He could provide when he could.” The Count scoffed. “And you were reduced to picking up after prostitutes.” He said, still absorbed in his surprise. “If I did not have some hesitation about your confidence with a pistol, I would begin to tell you how much I admire you.”

“Your admiration does not threaten me, Count.” Marian said her tone at last comfortable, licking another speck of cream on her finger. Indeed, she had, in the last quarter to an hour of her recollections, allowed him to speak or question. The Count knew her recollection meant more to her than merely a temporary means of safety.

“However, act upon it, and the game changes.”

“Of course,” The Count said, coming back to the table and gesturing to the empty teacup. “Will you?”

“In a while, I am fine now.” Marian replied. “Though in these circumstances I can hardly imagine finding calm.”

“The world works in mysterious ways, Marian, does it not?” The Count said jovially as he fluffed his pillows on his seat. One of the words she had spoken stuck clearly in his mind: _game_. He smiled broadly, enjoying himself immensely in the new competition.

“You spoke of your chores yes, but the women never gave you any trouble?” The Count turned from where he had stood with the pillows, and crossed to the table to serve his tea. After a pause, Marian replied:

“No, no trouble, a few words here and there, but nothing serious.” Marian continued.       “Things remained very much in that pattern, he would go to his clients and different galleries, I would stay and maintain the house. It was only at its worse when we didn’t make enough, and had we decided to eat we would be penniless. After about two weeks,we were both ill and the two of us weren’t getting on very well. It didn’t help that in that third week, winter decided to come back.”

“How did you survive than?”

“If you had lived as I had, Count, you would find nothing depraved in a man and a woman sharing a bed merely to keep each other alive, would you?”

The Count paused, again he was momentarily taken aback. He looked at Marian’s face, trying to choose his words carefully else he should anger her and end her recollection.

“If I were in such a position,” The Count paused. “I would think nothing of it.”

Marian let a small grin of satisfaction brighten her expression.

“However, if it was with someone I wanted, I should find it terribly difficult not to act on my desires.”

The smile escaped Marian’s lips, and the next moment, she broke her gaze from him and reached across to the teapot. A long silver line of steam came out from the spout and curled into the air. Remaining silent, she gracefully served herself a cup, and returned to her seat as she dropped a cube of sugar into her cup. On sitting, she felt her pistol against her leg, and rising quickly, realizing she had left her coat on the chair. Setting her cup and saucer down, she rearranged the folds of her coat and placed the pistol back onto the table, next to her spoon. Once again the Count saw the glimmer of the pistol set against the blue and red floral of her coat and sighed from the sight, thinking that a pistol, one of the most effective but unattractive of weapons he had wielded in his time, had never looked so beautiful outside of Marian’s hands. Seeing that Marian intended not to answer, the Count changed the subject:

“On another note,” The Count said as he placed his weight back onto the seat. “I believe it was around half through May that I received a letter of distress from my lamented friend.”

“From Percival?” Marian said assuredly, never even taking mind to his title.

“Yes. It was a letter saying that your uncle had consented to the June first deadline to take the estate, and that his solicitor, Mr. Merriman, had spotted you and Mr. Hartright in a pub on the South bank.”

Marian’s eyes met with the Count’s.

“It _was_ him.” She said softly.

“I did not want to interrupt, but yes, you had mentioned a familiar man, and I knew right away it had to have been Sir Percival’s solicitor. After that, his letter also stated he was coming to London to gamble, the only way to earn money until the estate passed. So we were reunited in London and I began to make my plans to leave the country, with intent to leave on the fourth of June, allowing those few days for the money to pass through.”

“My goodness,” Marian laughed. Focusing her sight on the cup in front of her, she began to count on her hands, until she reached six. “What a slight margin of time, but what felt like a lifetime.”

“From what?” The Count replied.

“From the night I left your house till that night at Limmeridge. Any sooner or any later and we would have missed him indefinitely. I suppose I have myself to thank for that addition of time.”

“In what way?”

“Everything changed. I decided to stop waiting.”


	6. Chapter 6

Looking across the table, and matching eyes with Walter, Marian held up the small glass in her hand. With one nod, they put the glasses to their lips and leaned back, downing the entire shot of brandy in one quick gulp. Walter exhaled, and forcefully placed the glass back down on the table with a loud clack. Marian, overwhelmed by the strong fume, felt the aroma of it catch in her throat and escape from her nose. She coughed and laughed, placing the shot back onto the table and pounding her chest, making sure every drop had gone down the right passage. Walter laughed, unrestrained.

“What did I tell you?” Marian spouted. “I might be skittish at first, but don’t doubt I can’t drink with the best of them.” Every tone deceived her, her voice was of a higher pitch, and she lowered her head and laughed at Walter, who was holding his side and resting his head on his hand. She reached across the dirty table and held his wrist, putting her head on the table.

“Not much, but better than nothing to keep us warm,” Walter said, trying to regain his

breath. “Cheaper too.”

“Don’t think it will be a substitute. Tonight perhaps, but let’s not make this a regular habit.”

“No, not after seeing you now when you’ve only had two.” Walter said.

“Oh you-“ Marian said, rising from her chair and coming over to push Walter’s head off of his arm. In the corner table, one of the men watched their playful struggle and raised his glass, letting everyone know he rooted for the lady. Laughter escaped from those around them. Walter took Marian by the arms, keeping her from any more offense. Instead he pushed back his chair with his foot and fell back onto it, and quickly he took Marian by the waist and spun her around, pulling her back onto his lap. Marian’s laughter erupted from her, sounding deeper and more intense with every breath.

“I have never heard you laugh like that in my life!” Walter cried, over the rollicking sound. “I won’t stop you, you need it!” With that, Walter pushed Marian off of his lap and turned out of the chair. He set her down into his chair went to his knees. Now, Marian’s eyes were closed and her sides so tensed it shot pain through her legs and brought tears to her eyes. She could no longer remember why she was laughing; only that the release was more powerful and more exhausting than any crying she had done. When she opened her eyes, Walter was on the ground in front of her with his hands on her shoulders. With his right hand, he brushed away the hair from her eyes and set it behind her ear. In reply, Marian wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned forward, catching his exhale on her cheek.

“I am so glad I found you.” She whispered. Without any thoughts, Marian acted. She took away her left arm from his shoulders and put her hand under his coat, stroking his back. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, putting her weight on his shoulders and feeling her breasts press into him. Walter shifted his weight on his knees and moved up. Taking Marian by both arms he helped her to stand. Leaving her to balance on her own for a moment, he moved to grab her brown blanket off of the chair and wrap it around her shoulders. Marian put her hands across her waist and closed the blanket around her. Walter led her by the arm to the bar where in the other hand; he had taken up the two glasses and put them back onto the bar. With one arm holding Marian, he reached into his pocket with the other and pulled out a couple pence and pushed it toward the barkeep.

“Leaving so soon.” A man sitting at the bar called to Marian. She looked up, and smiling she replied:

“I must be put down, to his rules!” Marian said, putting her hand squarely on Walter’s chest. Walter looked at Marian and looked back towards the man who had called. Marian could see that any ill thoughts Walter had as to the man stopped when he noticed who it was. The man was one Marian and Walter had seen in the Four Corners numerous times, and had briefly conversed with before. Marian would only reply if she thought the man harmless.

“Come now, let’s get back.” Walter said, taking Marian along and leading her to the entrance of the pub. As Walter opened the door, a harsh, shivering breeze blew into the pub making the peanut shells and glass shards race across the floor. The breeze so started Marian as to clear her mind, and without warning. Looking into the night sky, Marian took Walter by the hand and ran out into the road. Walter was calling her, but the sound of oncoming carriages and a wagon organ down the street bombarded her ears and cast out any other sound. With her left hand she opened the door with the red light and lifted her skirts as she crossed the foyer and made her way up the stairs. Walter’s heavy footsteps echoed behind her, and the force of his weight acting against her grip pulled her shoulder. One of the pictures was so startled by the action as to leap off of the wall. Marian breathed heavily, and enjoyed every inhale that brought power to her lungs and made her lightheaded. Marian called behind her, encouraging Walter to keep up with her wild pace. When Marian reached the top of the stairs, she turned around, watching as Walter stumbled awkwardly up the last two steps, still holding tight to her right hand. Walter’s weight pressed into Marian’s body as he tried to open the door.

“Sorry,” He said immediately. As he attempted to step back, Marian clasped the lapels of his coat. Before Walter had a chance to breathe again, Marian leaned forward and prevented another word from crossing his lips by sealing them with hers.

_Paint stained her face as Walter’s hands stroked her jaw. Summer sunlight flooded her vision, the glare of the sun shined into Walter’s eyes and a strand of the long plantation reeds brushed against his cheek. He lowered her into the grass._

Taking a breath through her nostrils, Marian opened her eyes and looked at Walter; as he was, not as she envisioned. He was staring at her, but had not yet dropped his hands from the door, nor had he broken out with rage. The silence set her feet trembling. Thoughts were flashing across Walter’s eyes, and when she noticed his gaze break, his eyes had traveled to her feet and glanced over her entire form. In the absence of words, and unable to contain her urgency, she took his hair into her hands and pulled him to her, taking every second of her kiss to taste him.

_Dirt stained her dress; her breath came in and flowed, her body rippling like a wave._

Suddenly, Marian felt Walter’s hands travel up her waist and move her against him. Marian closed her eyes and lain her head on his shoulder, inhaling the scent of his skin, overwhelmed by the sensation which like, earlier that day, threatened her pride amongst the women.

“Wait,” He whispered quickly. Walter opened the door and guided Marian into the room. When she was inside, she put her hand on her lips, and blinked the tears from her eyes before he could notice. His actions made the floors creak louder than before, close the door more firmly, and give another outlet to whatever emotion he carried. He threw off his coat from his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Marian stood in the center of the room, conscious in her effort to remain still and breathe, hoping that might cool her racing blood. Marian stepped back when she saw him cross towards her, but stood firm as he put his hands onto her shoulders. When she looked into his eyes then, any thoughts of her vision had disappeared and she noticed that his lips were trembling, his teeth chattering within his jaw. Cold without his coat, and seeing no other alternative she favored, Marian raised her hands to his face and pressed her body against him. Her sight became bleary, and her mouth warm from his saliva. She found his arms again, only now, not as confidently.

“Marian,” Walter whispered, breathing through his nose and pausing to pry Marian from him. “I don’t know-

“Don’t think.” She said hastily, taking him back and moving down his arm to take his left hand into her right. “Are you warmer now?” She said dreamily, stroking his arms and letting her head fall onto his chest. He stayed silent, and only breathed as he placed his right hand into her hair, feeling the smooth mass tangle in his fingers.

“Yes.” He said breathily, “No more…” Walter said aloud, as if processing his thoughts to the room. “Sleep Marian-

“Where? It is too cold for you to stay alone-”

“I’ll manage.” Walter said briskly. Marian looked up at his eyes, only then starting to feel a warmth of blood rushing to her face. She leaned forward again and put her hand onto his chest. Walter’s hand had not dropped from her hair, and his other found a place above her hip. Just then he broke from her and moved towards the bed, pulling back the threadbare cotton sheet from the board. Walter returned to Marian, only to lift the brown blanket from the floor which had fallen. He guided her gently from where she stood to sit onto the bed. He adjusted the pillows, and helped her remove her boots before setting her onto it. Marian never dropped her gaze into his face, trying to find the truth behind his actions without words. Her hand settled beneath the closure of her dress, just above her breast; a place which was cold and soon after her own touch, warmed enough to bring her ease.

“Good night, Marian.”

 

 

Marian felt the brown blanket move from across her feet, leaving them exposed to the chilled air. As her drowsy arm reached to push the blanket across her feet she could hear creaking in the room. She turned her head, opened her blurry eyes wider in the early morning darkness to see a black mass pacing the length of the floor. The darker figure’s outline against the lighter shade of the wall offset by holes showed his hands were close to his mouth, and his eyes cast down to the floor where his uncertain steps perpetuated.

“Walter?” Marian whispered, lifting the blanket away from her shoulders and trying to see his face in the darkness.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” His footsteps stopped. He walked towards the floor beside Marian’s bed. “I cannot sleep.”

“It’s alright. Come, talk to me, what is it?” She whispered as she moved back towards her pillow. Walter leaned his weight onto the flat board and small down padding where she lied and went to his knees, resting his weight on one elbow as his other hand reached across Marian’s waist.

“Walter what ever it is, I will listen.” Marian said, her eyes closed momentarily as sleep began to clamor for her attention again. There was no reply. She felt Walter’s hand take hers, the one she had placed across her waist to hold the blanket to her. She opened her eyes, and in the darkness suddenly felt his cheek on her fingertips. Walter had placed her hand upon his face, and before Marian’s vision could clear or make out the shapes in the cold shadows, he put her hand to his lips; small tremors rising in Marian’s veins.

“What is it?” Marian said, her voice becoming shaky.

“Your hand, it was cold, and I thought…” His voice trailed off, leaving her hand back in the place across her waist. She saw the faint reflections of what little light in his eyes, and a different sadness she had never seen in him prior. Marian moved up from her pillows and reached her hands to his face, feeling with her own palms the tears she could not see that were coursing down his cheeks.

Marian sounded his name into the air, and brought his face to her bosom, his arms pulling her by the waist towards him, her fingers stroking his hair as a short sob shook his body. She found herself laying kisses onto his head and caressing his back as she pulled him up from her breast; his clenched hands grasping the folds of skirting and blankets across her lap and unknowingly rubbing his fists against her thighs. Walter followed her lead back, and with one of his hands pulled her head forward to his lips. Marian’s thoughts vanished as he silenced her with a long, heavy kiss stuttered by their broken breaths. His tears fell on her fingers. Marian pulled him to her lips as she fell back, her legs beginning to bend to adjust to his weight against her waist and hips. Walter ended his kiss and let his mouth instead lay short sparking kisses along her neck, his breaths becoming long and heavy, but his sobs vanished. Marian ran her hands along his arms, letting her neck incline back, his entire face nestled in the curve of her neck, breathing in, his weight now heavy across her waist and breasts; her entire body suddenly sensitive to every move. Finding his lips again, Walter’s hand disappeared, and she could not see where until she felt his calloused palm slowly begin to advance up her calf; gathering the skirts and blankets on his arm. Marian gasped when his fingertips reached the edge of her stocking and touched the inside of her leg, closer than any touch she had ever known. Marian whispered, suddenly terrified by the strength and power of her own temptation.

“Please, Walter,” She pleaded. “I…I-

“What am I doing?” He said hastily, catching his breath, his hand on her leg motionless.

“No, Walter you don’t-

“Marian, I don’t know what to say, I mean…don’t think that I-

“Stop, stop trying to apolo-

“What do you feel?” Walter said.

“I don’t know.” Marian said, leaning forward, her brown locks falling in arcs from her shoulders, a sadness returning to her voice. “I don’t know.” She cried, shaking her head and placing her hand on her thigh. Walter kissed her cheek and put his hand on her shoulder, no longer appearing to cry, his hand slowly rearranging her skirts across her legs. Marian put her hands on his chest.

“I can’t explain, you were upset and I didn’t-

“No, I understand.” Walter said, avoiding looking directly into her eyes but letting his fingers toy with the lace collar and touch her neck with his thumb. Marian closed her eyes and moved one of her hands to his, holding it there; her skin tender and warm under his fingertips.

“It…it makes me feel less- Walter rushed.

“Does it?” Marian replied hastily.

“Yes.” Walter replied, letting his hand fold open the closure of her collar and lay his open palm on the arch of her collarbone. Marian tried her best to see his eyes in the darkness but the absence of light only made him seem less real, and anything but his breath and his touch as the only tangible evidence the world as she knew it remained. She blinked quickly, and saw his eyes were staring at the nape of her neck, and his fingers, as if running along the marble surface of a statue tiptoed across her chest, stopping at a point where his hand could tell where her skin began to rise with the volume of her breast. Marian couldn’t move, her hand remained motionless and her breath taught in her throat as she was torn between remaining still or moving his hand onto her breast. She watched him, Walter’s eyes followed his fingertips, and his hand left her skin and his eyes followed the line of buttons descending the line of her waist, touching each rounded button with his thumb before his palm ran along the side of her waist, rising up so that in one touch he could feel the bottom of her corset on the heel of his hand, and the rounded soft curve of her breast at his fingertips. Marian closed her eyes, embracing the stillness and laying her head back, her other hand dropped from his shoulder and settling against her cheek, hearing his breathing and studying his eyes as they found her face again. She looked straight into his eyes, trying desperately not to show the overwhelming want in that moment which if released, would rent apart her heart in a violent wave of terror and delight; unmatched by any declaration of emotion she had ever known. She prayed the ill light matched with her external control would hide the truth; that in that moment she could have poured out her heart and drowned him with the waters of her love and made him forget every moment of pain he had ever had, cradling him in the waves and ending her own torment with a magnificent crest matched only by the tides of a typhoon. Marian broke the silence.

“If you are still upset-

“No, I am alright.”

Walter rose from his knees, Marian quickly and on impulse put her hand on his arm than retracted it, lowering her eyes into her lap and damming her heart back into its ravines. Marian slowed her breath, telling her heart to stop racing and her hands to stop trembling, but helpless against the small capillaries of water that began to fall from her eyes. Walter paced quickly to his place against the wall, his head fallen into his knees as he rested his elbows on his legs, covering his face. Her breath starting to escape in tiny quiet sobs, Marian pushed the blankets off of her legs and crossed, as quickly as she could to the door. In what felt like seconds her weary legs pitched her down the stairs and reaching the bottom landing, dark spots moving along the corners of the floor, Marian put her hands to her face and began to cry. Just then, she heard heavier steps, quickly in pursuit of her own, follow and reverberate down the stairs. Marian shook her head, crossing into the parlor and standing in the corner of the room, the stairwell behind her.

“Marian, Marian please.” Walter cried, his steps stopping in the landing. “If I’ve hurt you I don’t mean to. Marian, please, come back. Talk to me. I need you.”

Marian’s heart raced, she put her hand over it and turned to her right, wishing she had the courage to face him when he spoke.

“I’m sorry to be so…so selfish. I can’t make something better out of my feelings I can’t. I am only a man.” Walter said, Marian could hear him pound a hand against the railing. “Marian I know you can hear me.”

Her whole body began to tremble again, and no longer able to control her voice she cried, in that instant Walter’s arms were around her, in a rush of air and with every second losing more and more of her self-control, Marian took him into her arms and clenched his shirt in her hands, pressing her face into his chest and letting her breath break and shatter within her. Walter took her hair in his hands, laid her face with kisses and used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her eyes, mirroring the very task that brought them to where they were.

“For God’s sake, stop!” Marian screamed, finally able to catch her breath. Walter pulled away his arms, stepped back with terror. But instantly, when her eyes saw his again, the shock and pain in his face, her hands moved to touch him again, only this time taking one of his hands and putting it to her lips.

“You feel the same, don’t you?” Walter whispered quickly, setting his other hand on her back and rounding her shoulders. She shook her head, then nodded, and again covered her face and turned to leave. Walter’s hands caught her in the doorway.

“Marian wait-

“Please don’t, do not tempt me to think such things!” Marian said, “I damn myself for it!”

“Damn yourself, Marian, on what account, what are you afraid of?” Walter said, turning her to face him again.

“Why aren’t you afraid? Can’t you see we’ve forgotten? We have a mission, Walter, and we cannot forget why we are here.” Marian said, her forceful tone returning, but as counter, placing her hands onto his chest. “I don’t know what I feel…all I know is I cannot forget. And neither can you. Will you promise me this?” She said, staring into his eyes.

“I promise.” Walter said, placing her hand back on her waist. Marian managed a smile, and wiped her eyes with her fingers, as Walter wrapped his arm around her shoulders for an embrace. He held her hair and remained still, touching her head more tenderly than she had ever known him to. When he dropped his arm, Marian looked up, and a gentle curve came to his lips, almost with a hint of laughter at the displays, before taking Marian by the hand and walking back into the foyer. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, pulled up the hem of her dress as Walter held her hand and waited for her to come beside him on the steps, the quiet of the early morning eased back into place gently coaxed by the light patter of their shoes on the wooden steps.    

 

 

Marian watched as Walter rose from his new sleeping place upon the floor, feeling unrestrained. His eyes blinked rapidly to grow accustomed to the changed light. The room became clear, his eyes focused and alert. When he noticed Marian, she was smiling. Marian rose from her position and steadily walked to window. She removed the ripped petticoat from the hole in the glass and opened the window lock. The sun glittered against the glass and shone brighter; dust had settled onto the window and shaded the light. Walter sat up straight and quickly brushed his hands through his hair, strands of it falling over his eyes and tickling the back of his neck. He still lingered at his place drowsily, stretching his neck and rubbing his face across the short stubs which began to grow on his chin.

“The weather is well!” Marian said brightly, looking out the window with glowing eyes. “This would be the perfect day for a painting, wouldn’t you say?” Marian laughed. She slowly walked back towards him and sat down besides him, only then noticing the hint of darkness under his eyes. Without being completely aware, Marian sat close to him, and tilted her head, causing her brown locks to fall over her shoulders. Walter looked towards her, yawning away his weariness.

“I suppose, if you wish it so.” Walter said, leaning over towards Marian. Quickly, Marian raised her hand and stroked the hair away from his eyes.

“You’ll need your eyes today.” She smiled. Walter took her hand within his, momentarily to bring it back to her graciously.

“We’ll talk more, over the painting. I shall need something to occupy me when I’m standing frozen.”

Walter escorted her by the arm and carried his easel with the other. Marian smiled, keeping the shawl against her to cover the broken closure of her dress. She would have to wear her torn dress for the painting. Marian managed to keep Walter’s paints hanging by her elbow. Walter guided her down the street towards the bridge. Minutes went by in moments now. As Marian kept her hand on his arm, her other hand had slowly traced down from his wrist and onto his hand. He dropped her arm and took her hand within his own. There was a curious smile on his face.

Marian stood still against the balustrade as Walter set up his easel on the pavement. There was no wind, the canvas would stay still. He placed his paints by his side and went to the ground to mix the colors. Marian walked to his side and lowered beside him, the fullness of her skirt gathering on the ground. Her hair fell in front of her face. Walter held up his paint. Brown. He set it against Marian’s hair and compared it to her natural color. He dribbled black and mixed it again. He set aside his brown and moved on to blue, holding the hem of her skirt between his forefinger and his thumb. Marian remained attentive, fascinated by his motions. Than he took a rose color, added white, and mixed it. Walter brought the color close to her face, the color of her skin. He set the paint down. He turned towards her again. Walter slowly moved his thumb toward her lips. He parted her lips with his finger. Marian looked into his eyes.

“The color of your lips,” He paused. “Would they be red or pink?”

Marian stayed silent, feeling uncertain of which emotion to surface. She adjusted the brown shawl around her shoulders. Marian kept to herself as Walter continued to mix his paints. He rose to position her stance. Walter kept his arm around her as he led her to the balustrade. Marian stood still, but froze when she felt his hand on her neck. He held her shoulders and straightened the lace collar. She closed her eyes. His hands drifted down her shoulders, onto her arms where they delicately gathered the brown shawl on them. Walter pulled her hair out from beneath the drapery of the shawl and brushed through her hair with his fingers to straighten it. Then his hands stayed on her shoulders. His grip tightened. Walter moved closer, but his right hand strayed away. She trembled when she found his hand, tenderly placed against her waist. Marian kept her eyes closed. He moved in closer to her and brought his hand to the front of her waist. Marian grasped his hand, hoping it would stop him. She held her breath.

“Stay still now.” He whispered. Marian’s neck inclined back, so slight Walter hardly noticed. She wanted to feel his cheek against her face. Marian closed her eyes and held his hand tighter. He did not withdraw his hand. Instead, quickly and suddenly, his lips moved in and pressed against her face. Unable to contain herself, she turned hastily and looked into his eyes. Seeing no barriers there, Marian kissed him.  

Instantly, she pulled herself away, and covered her lips.

            “Pay no mind to it, Walter. Return to your painting.” She said, turning in place on the balustrade and staring out over the water. Walter had not moved, instead he held onto the railing and leaned in closer.

“I have been thinking,” He whispered. “When my thoughts go to Laura-

Marian’s eyes were quick to water.

“When they think of her, and remember how she loved you, and how in spite of everything you always put her first before yourself, the…what I mean to say is-

“I know no other way of gratitude.” Marian said. “I’ve nothing else to offer you. I’ve been feeling so helpless.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Marian; I’m surprised to hear you say that. What of your intuition? Your courage? Your strength and defiance-

“Yes what of that? _Where will I be when I’ve won against those men_?” She blurted. Automatically she wished to put the words back into her mouth. Knowing that those thoughts, which had plagued her since Laura’s funeral, were never meant to be articulated. They were too ominous, too much of a frightening realization that threatened her focus. _For Laura first, then yourself_ , she tried to think. Marian set her eyes on Walter’s face, caught by the tremor of his lips as he breathed.

“Laura had these last.” Marian said, putting her fingertips on his lips and holding them there. “That is how they should stay. It was selfish of me to-

“Not if it is her wish to remain alive.” Walter said. Marian dropped her hand and searched into his eyes. “I think if anyone…” Walter could not finish before he clasped Marian tightly and with a tug, brought her forward where his mouth could act on hers, rather than speak. When he withdrew, Marian held from his grip and kept her glare on his face. Walter’s breath was quick and she felt, with her hand on his back, his blood race beneath his skin. Catching a pin-drop of sweat on his brow, Marian saw the light reflect into her eyes. Unable to hold him back, Walter pressed her into the balustrade, which sent tremors through Marian’s body. But when she opened her eyes, color came to her face at the sight of the passers-bys. Marian pushed out from Walter’s hold and stepped towards the easel.

“We have a commitment, Walter. You must start this painting.” Marian said, fixing the brown blanket, which she knew over the weeks had no use as a shawl, but was better than nothing. Walter crossed to his easel and lifted his brushes and palate from their place beneath the legs of the easel. Taking a last look at his eyes behind the canvas, Marian turned and looked out over the water, the sun momentarily breaking from behind the sheet of grey.

 

Over the later hours, rain was threatening in the skies. Finally, drops began to fall on the canvas. Walter covered it with his own coat and fumbled to arrange his paints before they became damp. Marian shielded her hair with the shawl and carried the easel as they hastened their way back to the flat. The sky turned black. With the dusk approaching and the clouds blocking the fading sun, gave the illusion that night had come early. The water fell into Marian’s hair and made twirling strands curl like tendrils against her neck. The rain became heavier as they ran down the street. The rain was cold, and would freeze if the night resumed a wintery course. They passed the now empty sidewalks and ran beneath the darkened sky. The windows of the pubs were glossed with smoke. Walter approached the house and opened the door, he stood aside. Marian ran in. They closed the door behind them. Walter uncovered the canvas; allowing Marian her first glance at her painting. She smiled.

It was beautiful.

Walter had only begun to paint in the folds of her gown when the rain began. Her hair was beautifully painted, with a dark, almost black base and later textured with brown and occasional glimmers of light. She looked as she did in the past, full and healthy in figure and strident in her position and stature. Marian had never perceived her image in such a light. But more than anything, from his placement, he was able to capture the side of Marian’s face, looking out. Her eyes were captured, the emotions passing through them forever planted in liquid time. Marian, still deciphering what her exact thought could have been, carried the painting in her hands as they approached the stairs.

“I don’t know what to say, Walter.” She said softly.

A sudden, earth shattering noise broke into the room. Unwilling, Marian shrieked. The door was thrust open, crashing against the wall. Two men entered the room. They were constables. Marian held the portrait in front of her, defensively. Walter quickly, and instinctively, went to Marian’s side. The two men stood in the foyer and turned back towards the street. Lucy was following behind them. Her face was wet and her expression grim. Another constable followed her. He was carrying a woman. They gathered into the foyer.

“Where did she come from, has she any family?” The constable asked.

“No.” Lucy said. “Her parents abandoned her, I took her in. She hasn’t been here long.”

“You know where they are?”

“No.”

Marian glanced at the face of the woman. It was Brigit. Her face was bruised.  A long, thin gash ran across her forehead, but the most garish wounds were found on the side of her head. The constable carrying her placed her onto the ground, where her legs twisted in such a way they could only be broken else her cries would deafen the world. Her clothes were torn and her skin dull and chalky.

She was dead.

A sudden, inexplicable fear consumed Marian’s body. She dropped the painting, allowing it to fall backwards to the ground. Her hands rose to her face. Walter stood stunned. The two gentlemen were sent to Brigit’s room. Marian’s face bent beneath her hands, tears began to pour down her eyes. All the consuming thoughts she had fought to restrain came back, but more than anything words echoed as she looked at the body:

_Percival found her this morning, lying on the ground like a little broken bird._

            Marian burst into tears, captured by the presence of death and all of his company.  The words overwhelmed her, the fearful vision of her lovely sister’s body broken; bones breaking through her creamy skin and blood staining her cheeks, not far from the body lying before her now. She cried into the air:

“Laura!-

Walter took her into his arms, letting his own tears fall on her shoulders. Just then, Bella had descended the stairs. Instead of walking by, ignoring the situation entirely she stood on the last step, glancing down at the body. With widened eyes, she too placed her hand across her face, but only to unsuccessfully prevent the vomit from escaping her throat.


	7. Chapter 7

Marian continued to their room and shivered from the cold. Her dress was damp and making her skin freeze like ice upon her. She abandoned every trivial thought from her mind, as she reached for her new, dry gown folded on the floor, and began unbuttoning her dress. She forgot every thought, disregarded Walter standing in the door. The dress slipped down her arms. She was shrouded in white. Marian thought of her plan, how she would be able to carry it through with or without Count Fosco’s address; which they needed desperately.

“We need to talk.” Marian said, approaching Walter with her new dress up her arms, but unfastened in the back. Coldly, she turned away from him and gestured for his assistance. Walter stayed silent, too silent to her taste, but expeditiously fastened the buttons up her back.

“I have several pounds left, we can get something to eat, but I don’t think it will be much.” Walter whispered slowly.

“Very well” Marian said, too quickly to assure him she was calm. “Besides, I seem to have lost my appetite.” Marian placed her hands on her hips, shifting edgily in her place. Walter closed the last button, just below her neck, and rested his hands on her shoulders. He turned Marian in her place to face him.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He whispered gently. Marian looked away from his face and put her hands casually on his chest. Walter then put his hand into her hair and brought her forehead to his lips. And pulling her back quickly placed a kiss on her lips. Marian stepped back, Walter’s hand remained reaching for her, but checking her glance, he quickly dropped it back to his side. She couldn’t find words, and occupied by her thoughts, found his kiss unsurprising.

“Let’s go, while the rain has let up a bit.”

 

They remained silent as they walked across the street to the pub. The place seemed twice as rowdy, but there was a faded light, dimness in the rooms which darkened the corners. Walter kept a distance behind her. They reached the table and Marian sat down, for the first time not having the patience to allow Walter to settle her in her place. Walter brought himself a chair and quickly set it down. He sat at the table and kept his eyes on Marian. She was silent, submerged in her thoughts. Walter hailed for a server. A servant came and brought water to the table.    

“Our plans are useless without the Count’s address.” Marian said clearly. She paused, looking to see if she had caught Walter’s attention. His head rose and Marian’s eyes looked into his. Walter nodded.

“Are you sure it was St. John’s Wood?” He said.

“Yes, quite sure, only the exact address slips my mind.” Marian said.

Walter put the glass to his lips and drank his water. Marian placed her hand atop his, resting in the center of the table. The act appeared to startle him, Marian assuming she was so wound up in her own world and by reaching for his hand, she had truly returned to Walter. She continued:

“We must obtain it. Count Fosco would welcome me only I fear I would need a change of my appearance, I would not want to give him any impression that I have been struggling.”

“What are your reasons for that?” Walter asked.

“Walter, I haven’t told you everything, and now that I think of it, my presenting myself to Fosco is more challenging than I first assumed. Ever since my sister and I came of age, I have had a comfortable amount of savings under my name. Unfortunately I went to the banks and withdrew my savings before I left for London. It was spent accordingly, but the remainder of it was split between my travels here and Limmeridge house, along with my diary. I lost half when I was robbed, the other half is still at Limmeridge. But Percival Glyde and Fosco think I am living on my own accord somewhere off of my own expenses, yet in truth all the money I have left is sealed in a box with my diary under my bed at Limmeridge.” She paused.

“Do they expect you to return to Blackwater Park or Limmeridge?”

“I will never return to Blackwater Park.” She said, her tones dropping. “I never want to look on those walls ever again. As for Limmeridge, as much as it pains me to say, but I know that even though it is the only place for me, the idea of living under Sir Percival’s control has kept me away. I cannot imagine he would displace Mr. Fairlie to sell to the estate but I cannot remove that as an option if he is so desperate to alleviate his debt. I am penniless; I would have no choice but to return.”  

“Limmeridge is not Glyde’s already? Didn’t you say-”

“Yes, not yet, Fairlie will hand over the estate on June the first.” Marian said. “We do not have much time, not as much as we may need. But every farthing her father left Laura is gone, her whole inheritance. Sir Percival Glyde has robbed our family, his solicitor did not back down when Laura’s will was written. She wanted, as the true instinct of her heart, to hand the entire estate and inheritance to _me_ upon her death! The only one who truly loved her, Sir Percival insisted that the entire wealth of her father’s life to go him alone, without question. I should have known than. I should have allowed myself to distrust him at first suspicion!” Marian pressed her hands into fists and clenched them together.

“We can’t blame ourselves,” Walter said righteously. “It’s Glyde who has done the wrong, and Glyde who must be stopped.” Walter sat back in his chair and grasped Marian’s hand. The rowdy noises of the bustling drinkers filled his ears.

“I will see to our meals” He said. Walter rose from the table, still holding Marian’s hand.

Suddenly, a drunken man was pushed into Walter and his drink poured over himself. The man cried out angrily, and with a fierce turn of his body he faced Walter and thrust him away from his path. Walter was pushed into the table, knocking over the glasses. Marian rose from her seat quickly, before the table fell, coming close to crushing her legs. Her voice rose above the cheering drunks shouting at the man in fury. Walter caught Marian and began walking away. The man followed them. He placed his large, greasy hand onto Walter’s shoulder and pulled him back.

With a sudden gesture, the man’s fist struck Walter’s face.

Marian screamed and went to Walter’s side. The man laughed at Marian, saliva dripping from his wide mouth. With a rage in her eyes, Marian went to the ground by Walter. Words which had never attempted to pass Marian’s thoughts came back to her in that moment, and unhesitating, she uttered them:

_“Why you flimsy fuck!”_ Marian blurted out furiously as she helped Walter to stand. She caught his glance for a moment; Walter was staring at Marian dumbfounded, coaxing his jaw back to its usual comfort as his cheek began to swell. 

Without warning, the man lunged at her, reaching over to push Marian from Walter to strike the side of her face with his open palm.

The shock took her breath away and she lost her balance, her vision hazy as she fell into a chair, bruising her forearm from the impact. Walter went straight for the man, throwing his fists into the air. The rowdy drinkers cheered and made commotion as the men fought. The few women, mostly the whores from the neighborhood, including the three Marian had not met in attendance, since she felt sure she could hear their salutations for their friend Walter. Marian lifted herself to her feet, broken glass prickling her fingers, and ran back into the battlefield. Walter was pushed onto a table, struggling under the man’s weight and thick arms. Marian gripped the man by his arms, and with sweat beginning to glisten on her face, attempted with all of her strength to push the man away from Walter. His grip on Walter ceased as the man flipped Walter off of the table, tipping away and sending Walter headfirst into the cushioned seat against the wall. 

A sudden fear consumed Marian, and with horrified eyes as the drunken beast turned his attentions to her. His large hand grasped her by the neck. Marian felt his fingers slowly constrict and press her veins; she couldn’t breath. Walter stood and went back into the battle. Before another word could leave Marian’s stifled throat the man reared his fist back and thrust forward. A sharp snapping sound was heard. He struck a clean blow to her waist. Marian’s body shook with a sharp sudden pain. An inward, muffled scream issued from her throat before the man threw her to the ground. A woman in the crowd screamed for them to stop. The bar noises seemed to dwindle. The intoxicated eyes gazed at Marian, who tried to catch her breath on the floor. She was blinded by the unusual pain. Marian could not bend her waist, to rise and look at herself; she knew well there was something sharp and thin penetrating her flesh. The girl pushed her way through the crowd. Walter looked in horror. A spot of blood the size of Marian’s palm began to spread across Marian’s waist.

“What have you done?” The girl screamed angrily. A last punch was thrown. Walter knocked the man unconscious. He fell into the crowd senseless and bruised; glasses broke as he smashed into the tables. Marian breathed slowly, holding her weight with one arm as her knees ground herself to the floor. Marian realized he had broken her corset. The powerful strike had snapped the whale boning and the sharp, broken edge sunk into her skin. The girl went to her knees and lifted Marian’s hands from her waist. The spot of her dress now wet with blood, and with no other place, began to drip into Marian’s hand, clotting between her fingers. All of the rage and color left Walter’s face. Quickly he went onto the ground before Marian, where her controlled breath managed to keep her stable.

“Get this stay off! Get her out of here!” The girl called to Walter. He slowly helped Marian to lean back, and as quickly as he could manage, hoisted her up into his arms. By lifting her Marian let out a terrible scream. She felt the boning sink deeper, a surge of blood rise from beneath her dress. Marian’s face deceived her stability, and was soon covered in sweat and tears; her eyes closed and by the very thought, her head going light. She could hear Walter’s voice. Marian called Walter’s name, grasping his shirt in her clenched, bloodstained hands. Walter and the girl cleared through the bar and walked out to the street. Holding the door was the old regular, who with his free hand removed his cap and unknowing of any struggle, wished her a fine night and hoped for the next.

 

Walter carried Marian into the hallway, the brothel door swinging open and startling a woman on the steps. It was Bella. The girl who followed from the pub took the nearest cloth, which was her own shawl resting on a chair in the foyer, and pressed it against Marian’s waist to keep the blood from her hands.

“Where can I set her down?” Walter cried. Bella’s eyes stared at Marian in fear. Instead of becoming ill, without another word she led Walter to an empty bedroom on the first floor. Bella called to Maggie. They ascended the stairs, Marian still throbbing with pain, but quieter save for struggled moans. Maggie stood at the side of the bed and was watching with curiosity. Walter placed her down onto the bed. Marian breathing quickened and her hands started to tremble violently, afraid to move another muscle. Bella sat by her side and grasped the front of Marian’s plain dress and forcefully tore it open. Walter turned away, his hands rushing to his temples at the sight of her white corset stained red. Momentarily Marian saw him look at the place where the boning punctured her skin.

Bella then tried to break the corset open. Marian screamed in anguish, feeling the boning slide within her skin and small spurts of blood pouring out, warming her waist. It wouldn’t give. Marian’s breasts were covered by the white corset, but drops of blood from Bella’s hands smeared across her breasts as she gripped the corset in her hands. It wouldn’t break.

“Walter, come hold her!” She cried. Walter came to her side of the bed and held Marian up in her place. Bella slipped the dress off of Marian’s arms and exposed the back of her corset, leaving her bisected bodice to gather on her wrists, her entire new dress now destroyed. Marian lowered her head and gripped Walter’s arms. Marian could feel more now than ever her breasts pressing beneath the corset and when she glanced down, saw the drops of blood on her own skin. Walter kept his eyes on the wall.

            Moments later Bella found a small bag she had been looking for in the bodice of her gown and opened the stringed seal. She poured the contents into her hands and unwrapped the material; exposing a razor blade no wider than her thumb. Bella placed the blade onto the corset ties. In one quick flick of her wrist, the ties broke and released the pressure. Marian felt the strain release and let her head fall onto Walter’s shoulder in her relief, a long and deep sigh leaving her throat. Bella slowly opened the corset and passed it to Walter. He slowly withdrew the corset from her waist. Marian grew lightheaded as she felt the boning slide out of her skin. Her eyes fell back into her head and closed as she fell back onto Bella, her world disappearing, the voices growing faint, her body losing feeling. Walter grasped Marian’s face and pressed his lips onto her cheeks. He called her name then called for Bella to move and let Marian’s body fall back onto the pillows.

            Marian’s eyes shot open, alert again, her breath coming back with a hiss, her body gaining feeling, Walter and Bella’s voices becoming heard again. She felt the strength to grasp Walter’s hand. He felt it, and squeezed it tighter in return. Walter fell into Marian's arms as she breathed slowly, letting the tears fall down her face. She trembled only a little now, but chilled as she felt the air of the room react to her bare skin and arms. Walter pushed her out of his embrace to see her face.

“I thought I lost you.” He said, his tones tensing. Marian smiled, and laughed some of her tears out. As Bella crossed to the end of the bed, Walter caught Marian’s body in one arm and brought her to his lips. Unable to fight, nor have energy to move herself from his tight grasp, she allowed her lips to part and the kiss to break her thought.

Suddenly, Bella came to the side of the bed and took Walter by the arm. Violently she pulled him from Marian’s lips and pushed him out of the room. Marian rose, and shocked by the action, moved to protest, but fell forward onto her legs when she felt her soreness strike. With the pound of the door Marian fell back and let her mind over to the darkness of unconscious.

 

When Marian’s eyes opened, she saw that the women had left her. The room was dark except for a small candle on the bed-table. There were dried tears on Marian’s cheeks. She felt, under her shift, wrapping around her waist, evidence that someone had bound her. Her eyes adjusted to the light, and to the dark form hanging over her. As she lay staring, the image cleared and she saw Walter sitting down on the bed beside her. She could not find words, they refused to form. She could do nothing but breathe, mingling his exhale with hers. She saw that his arm extended over her left shoulder, holding the weight of his torso above her breasts. No words passed between them until Marian felt the energy to lift her hand. She placed it upon his face. Slowly she rose from her position on the bed and, becoming accustomed to the soreness, pressed her lips onto his.

“Thank you.” She whispered in his ear, her soft, frail voice issuing a short gasp on another acknowledgement of the new discomfort. Suddenly Walter clasped Marian into his arms and released his tears onto her right shoulder. She closed her eyes as she was pressed under him. Marian lifted her right hand and placed it onto his back. Under his weight, she gently leaned back upon her pillow. Walter lifted himself and put Marian’s left hand to his lips. She smiled. Walter’s tears dripped onto her neck. He whispered to her softly.

“Oh, thank God.” He said, the words only making his tears pour thicker. Marian’s tired arm reached over across her waist and stroked his hair with her fingers. Then she felt his right hand leave her face and cross her body and settle beneath her arm, smoothed over the curve of her back.

“I don’t know what I would do without you.” He whispered. Marian’s heart beat faster as she felt his breath against her neck.

“I have prayed, Walter-” She managed to whispered, losing the thought altogether. Tears started to glide down her face. “I act as if nothing frightens me, but in truth…” Marian paused, losing her word. Taking a breath she continued, staring into his eyes. “What’s to become of us?

The words didn’t fill the silence easily. Marian could see the void of thought in the way his eyes avoided her gaze and he motioned to change his position on the bed beside her. Marian pulled on his sleeve, holding him there the tears drying from her eyes in the quick appearance of temper.

“Don’t lie to me I know you have been thinking of it too.” Marian whispered firmly. “There is only so much we can do before we ourselves are left with nothing.” She met his eyes again. “Laura used to joke to me that I was selfish. I have tried not to be so for her sake but I can’t always get the better of my own heart.”

“What then?” Walter said quickly, answering her after a long pause.

“I don’t know.” Marian replied, barely audible to his ears. With her faltering bodily strength Marian pushed herself up to sit against her headboard. Walter sat up beside her, facing towards the broken window which faced the street below. Walter remained silent. Marian searched his gaze again placing her hand on his back only than remembering to keep her linens tight against her person; whoever having redressed her wounds avoided further soil to her gown by removing it entirely. Marian let her arm rest on his shoulder and laid her head on his shoulder, trying anything to break his absent gaze and make him reveal his thoughts. Able to hear his intake of breath, Marian withdrew her hand when he at last turned to face her again.

“When you were still asleep I couldn’t stop myself from thinking. I made a promise to Laura…since I could not save her, I would do everything I can to protect you. I cannot lose you, Marian. You are all I have left.”

Marian could scarcely speak. There was a time when the words which had reached her ears would have brought happiness beyond even her own recognition until she could hardly recognize herself in the rapture of her own delight. But this was not the same. Even now hearing from his own lips the value placed on her degraded person Marian could not justify his want. She could not even take the slightest pleasure in acknowledging the shift in his affection without wanting to renounce his proposal in favor of her sister as the recipient. Too weary and suddenly feeling lightness in her mind, Marian realized that she was trembling again; fighting as it was the impulse which remained slumbering which told her to embrace him. Without waiting for a reply from Marian, Walter turned to face her and taking her shoulders in both hands drew her mouth to his lips. Marian’s blood rushed throughout her body, taking the weakness from her limbs. Walter’s kiss lingered. Her fingers curled and reached for the back of his neck. She felt the weight of his legs on the side of her right thigh and for a moment, distanced her ankles from their grip. Marian looked at face, seeing that Walter’s breath had become heavier. They looked into each other’s eyes.

In a single moment, Walter swallowed her breath and swinging his leg over, lied atop Marian and pulled her up beneath him. The shock escaped Marian through a gasp of surprise, no longer able to support his weight, splitting her legs. Her focus changed, and no longer paying mind to his long kiss, she felt the weight of his thighs against hers and let her water-colored visions return. Her body suddenly taken over by intense heat, unlike any she had sampled before. But it was overpowering, she hardly kept her thoughts to speak again, or even to attempt restraint. Instead, looking at another memory, a newer one, she took Walter’s hand and pressed it to her breast, letting his fingers curve around it. Marian couldn’t hold the sounds from escaping her throat, and hearing herself, she opened her eyes and looked at Walter. Before the throbbing could raise any higher, Marian put her hands onto Walter’s chest and summoned all of her courage, but lost it in a flash, suddenly feeling the heel of his hand caught in the skirts between her legs. Sounding a short scream Marian found strength to resist and push him.

“Stop, please stop.” Marian said, surprised at her insistence. But whatever motivated her to speak it was effective, and Walter fell back onto the foot of the bed, curled across her feet and laying his hand against his hips, catching his breath. Marian fell back onto the pillows, attempting to catch her thoughts, but every other breath falling deeper. Walter groaned, leaning his head into the bed under him. She bent her knees and pulled her skirts, and the broken bodice, forward to keep Walter’s eye from straying. Finding strength, and physically willing to endure any pain to distract herself from her state, Marian crossed over to Walter’s end of the bed, curling her legs into her chest and putting her arms onto his shoulders. He put his hand on her knee. Finding the strength, and letting a tear leave her eye, Marian whispered;

“You should sleep. You may stay but-

“I understand.”

“Can we try to…” Marian paused.

“Yes.” Walter replied. “Yes, we should try. I’ll not touch you if that be your will.”

Marian sighed and let her head fall onto his arm, her knees pointed into his chest. Straying from her usual mask of modesty, Marian let the thought escape through words, without hesitation: 

“And if it isn’t?”

Marian held her breath, her heart finally settling on a relaxed beat in her chest, suddenly on the brink of tears from the revelation of his want.

“Let’s try.” Walter replied softly, letting his hand stray to fix a hair which strayed across her cheek. “For now.”

 

_Walter withdrew, falling backwards into the long grass smiling and looking up at the clouds. Marian, setting her dress aside and relishing in the dirt on her heels and chutes caught in her tousled hair set her body pitched towards him, falling onto his lap and landing another long kiss on his lips, looking into the whirling clouds and the brilliant dots of sun glare on his eyes._

_I love you, Marian. He said, his hand climbing up her back_.


	8. Chapter 8

Francis opened the door to the suite and allowed the servant to pass through, carrying a tray with a carafe of red wine with two glasses. The Count, parched by the absence of his water, which today proved too small a portion, left a note with Francis during Marian’s narrative. Now it had arrived, and at the most inopportune moment. The sound of the door startled Marian from her delicate recollections, which as the Count observed, were accounted for with more confidence and lack of modesty of any woman he had ever heard. Never revealing too much, Marian was wonderful at accounting the presence, state of mind, and minute details that stuck in her mind to recall every moment with accuracy. Yet now, with a stranger entering the room, unaccustomed to her frankness or tone of conversation, Fosco noticed an immediate tension of her shoulders, and a roll of her eyes as the servant crossed the room. Her body turned in her seat towards the Count, setting her green skirt rustling beneath the table. Marian let her left elbow rest on the table and set her hand against her head, holding it there whilst keeping her eyes on the Count as the servant set the tray down on the far end of the table. The servant filled one of the glasses, drops streaming down the lips of the carafe, and moved to fill the second.

“No, thank you.” Marian said, holding up her right hand. When she shifted the weight of her head on her hand, the Count caught the glimmer of a ring on her left hand. From what he saw, he could tell it was a band of gold, but with a stone set in it that was unlike a diamond. The Count smiled to the servant as he came over, holding out the glass in his hand.

“Will you take your usual luncheon, sir?” The man said, with a clear and youthful voice.

“Yes, and whatever Mrs. Gabriel requests.” The Count said, changing his focus to Marian, who had begun to toy with the buttons on her coat.

“Thank you.” Marian said, letting the servant continue without additional requests. Without being told, the servant cleared the table of the empty plates, Marian over the course of her recollection having consumed nearly half a dozen of the petit-fours he had ordered; strictly to appeal to a female’s taste in pastry. 

The Count heard Marian sigh as the servant closed the door behind him, leaving Francis to assume his position outside the door again. She turned back to the Count, her eyes half closed in contemplation, her shoulders once again in their natural place, and her hands back toying with the folds and buttons of her coat in her lap.

“Given the existence of the eyes of Walter Hartright in the girl at your side, I take it his promise to you that night was unsuccessful?” The Count said forthrightly. “You seem less distressed about Mr. Hartright’s behavior now. I find it to have been most offensive.”

Marian let a laugh escape her lips. “I am sure you have felt the want in your time, Fosco. Is it so surprising to you that a woman can facilitate an indiscretion as heartily as a man? His offense is mine, do not place blame on one.” She said, resolutely. The Count sat still, placing his glass of wine on the window ledge where his former glass resided.

“Truth is if there is only one to blame it is myself.” Marian paused, looking down into her lap. The Count tilted his head forward, hoping to see more of her face.

“I have learned, and now I know, that no other circumstances would I have allowed myself to yield so completely. You men look at a woman who takes a lover on her own terms as a harlot, a freak of society, unnatural to want something as base and human as love of a man beyond the deliberate compliment or material gift. Yet you lavish compliments on us and trade us off one for the other as you would a waistcoat, calling it your nature and Man’s need for variety; a new color and texture by the day. But what of women? Did none of these things occur to you before? I don’t say that before Walter I had a wandering eye that is not my point. My discovery came in the realization that I, a woman, had the capability and acknowledged its existence, and thought what man or woman would judge me for what I have done if they had not lived as I had, and lost what I had lost. My actions were not of a noble nature, that I freely confess, but they harmed no one, and saved the life of a man I loved. I have heard it said a man takes the greatest satisfaction in the way he cares for his wife; a purpose to their lives at last if there is nothing else. What is there for us? Is it so wicked to imagine that some women ( I myself as one of those numbers) can find little or no satisfaction making our every last minute dedicated to the happiness of one man? And if we have nothing to give, as I did, no fortune, no great family, what is left but ourselves? And even after we offer ourselves to their consumption, what indeed do the best of us get in return if not our own fleeting glimpse of pleasure? Well, I knew before long, before he came to me again I had an answer to my life; something which would bring me more fulfillment than spending my life as no one but Mrs. Walter Hartright. And no one to say I could live otherwise.”   

The Count’s eyes gazed into hers.

“I have no regret.” Marian said firmly.

The Count smiled, staring upon the magnificent creature before him in even more admiration.

“You, of all of the women in the world, would have been worthy of me, Miss Halcombe.”

 

* * *

 

 

The string which held the drying garments hung limp, falling under the pressure of the clothes, and of her own blue gown, which now hung over the line dripping dry from its cool treatment. Marian kept still in the corner, holding the brown blanket she had taken from her room around her shoulders. Her cheeks were wet and splotched red. Every moment it seemed brought her from joy to misery and back again. She sat against the wall quietly, catching her breath after finally filling the tub with enough lukewarm water for her comfort. Marian rested her head onto her knees, letting her hair fall across her face. She thought to herself. Time passed. Sounds were heard in the hallways, each one making Marian listen more closely, hoping Lucy would not chance come in and see Marian’s indulgence. Never mind seeing Walter again. As she slowly reached across her back to untie her corset, she glanced down at the stain, mesmerized by the patterns of red lines, outlining where the corset ended and her blood began. She wanted it to bleed again. Marian wanted to feel blood on her hands, if only to have another way of feeling life beneath her skin; remind herself that she, and her actions, had existed.

Her eyes saw a red drop on a layer of her skirt. Marian, suddenly overcome with trepidation, pushed aside her petticoat and looked at the edge of her shift. Marian saw what she wanted, and the blood staining her thigh reminded her of her truth. She closed her eyes, her heart suddenly cold and empty of any tear or expression. Marian rose from ground, again taking a moment to be sure of her legs beneath her. When she found her weight steady, she let the brown blanket fall behind her as she approached the tub. Slowly, she went back to her knees beside it, letting her right hand mingle with the surface of the water. It was cooler now, but still comfortable enough to bath in. Sitting still and calm, breathing easily and setting her thoughts over her next actions, she reached behind her back and pulled the tie of her skirts, prepared to push them down her legs, when she heard a tremendous pounding in the foyer.

            The door to the washroom flung open. Marian screamed, startled by the harsh crash of the door against the wall. She gripped the side of the tub, staring at the woman who had entered. It was Lucy. Her eyes were barely open, and wearily she walked towards the cauldron. She took water from Marian’s bath and splattered her face. Not seeming to notice Marian, Lucy’s head was low, the shawl around her slipped down her shoulders to reveal bruises. They were new. Marian’s face turned pale, and a pain rang through her gut when she remembered the last time she looked upon bruises like hers. Lucy’s long gold hair fell out of its’ once neat, curly pile atop her head. Her green dress was torn. Marian lowered her eyes, but slowly she began to rise from her place on the floor. Marian rose to her feet and stood behind her, no longer conscious of her own pain. Lucy stood still and silent as Marian went beside her. She slowly extended her hand and placed it onto her shoulder. Lucy forcefully grasped Marian’s wrist and thrust her to the ground. Marian shrieked as Lucy pressed her to the floor and hung over her.

“I want to ruin Sir Percival Glyde!” She screamed. “I want to see him dead!” Lucy screamed wildly, releasing her grip on Marian and burying her head into her hands. Marian lay on the floor for a moment, startled by Lucy's behavior. Lucy stayed silent; holding back sobs which would have shook the room if she had let them out. Her calloused heart was breaking to pieces. Marian rose from the floor.

“What has he done to _you_?” She cried. Lucy’s hands dropped from her face and she held her arms and shook her head vigorously, as if to stop her own painful memories from seeping out from the depths of her mind.

“What has he done to you? Tell me, I will help you!” Marian persisted. “You can trust me, Lucy.” Marian said. A hope and curiosity filled her mind, as if Lucy’s words would unlock yet another secret, a secret she and Anne Catherick may have shared. Lucy broke out into sobs and threw herself into Marian’s arms. She fell onto Marian’s breast. Marian held her there, painfully recollecting the sister who had occupied that position once before.

“He’s ruined me…I thought perhaps with him I could be saved, brought out of all this, but no, he keeps me here, keeps me in the gutter just to spite me!” Lucy cried. Marian placed her hand on Lucy’s face and wiped away her tears.

“Now tell me, what can I do to help you?” Lucy said, a sturdiness returning to her voice. “Bella told me everything-

“Told you what?” Marian said, frightened that the response would be associated with her more private matters.

“Walter told Bella everything about your plans, to get back at Sir Percival Glyde.” Lucy said, vengeance slipping back into her voice. “What must be done? Where will we strike him down?”

“We will strike him through Anne Catherick’s secret.” Marian said, holding Lucy tightly and saying the words softly, whispering to avoid any notice. “She too was wronged by him and no one knows the truth but her. She claims her secret will destroy him!”

“I have no doubt he’s wronged her horribly.” Lucy said. “He’s heartless, I tried for courtesy’s sake to give my condolences for Lady Glyde’s death but he laughed at me!”

“When did you speak to him?” Marian whispered, but losing her whisper and heightening her voice with anticipation.

“At the gambling den last night, I was with Sir Percival last night.” Lucy pushed herself out of Marian’s arms. She rose from the floor and went to the washroom entrance. She closed the door behind her and made sure no one in the hall was spying.

“And he was alone with you?” Marian continued.

“No, we weren’t alone the whole night. I accompanied him and later we met with his friend at another den.”

Marian’s heart raced as if she had found the door which would unlock her plan. She pressed against the door and slammed her fists onto it. So close to getting it open…

“He was with his friend, Count Fosco.” Lucy said.

The door broke open, ideas and thoughts raced into her mind with overwhelming rapidity. At the mention of his name, Marian’s fists clenched and her body trembled with fear and nameless other sensations which she had associated him with. The soft, creeping sensations upon her skin, areas where his thick hands and pouted lips had caressed her, scorched with fire as if his hand were over her shoulder touching her again. Even more disturbing than she ever fully comprehended.

“That’s who we must find! Are you to be with Sir Percival tonight?” Marian said hastily.

“Yes, I imagine he would call upon me again, he does every time he’s in London.” Lucy answered, her voice was no longer haughty, and in truth, was a beautiful voice. Her voice had a youthful freshness and eagerness to it. .

“So you are to be with him tonight, you mustn’t mention any of this, if your tongue slips it could mean all of our necks!” Marian cried, rising from the ground and beginning to pace about the room. She heard Lucy make a sound of concern. Marian looked down to where she sat beside the tub. Her right hand was pointed to her leg. Marian took the fabric of her skirts in her hand, blocking the stain from Lucy’s vision. Marian leaned against the wall.

“I must do something tonight. I must find a way to get to Fosco.” Marian said, no longer distracted.

“How so, you mean his address?” Lucy said smartly. “You needn’t worry about that, I’ve been to Count Fosco’s with Sir Percival several times. He lives on Forest Road, over in St. John’s Wood.”

“Do you know what this means?” Marian cried, on the brink of tears that the door to her path had opened completely, and the woman standing before her was the key. How shameful Marian felt, once spiting this woman for her rudeness and bitterness.

“What does it mean, Marian?” Lucy said, almost breathlessly.

“I shall go to Count Fosco tonight.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Marian sat at the vanity in Lucy’s room. She sat; bare and cold clad only in her petticoat and shift. Lucy stood behind her, assembling Marian’s long hair in her hands.

“Leave some of it down; let them hang over your shoulders.” Lucy said to her. Marian fumbled through the cases of make up on the vanity. As Lucy continued to pin curls and gathers of Marian’s hair to her head, she stared into the mirror, seeing everything that had occurred to her body in the mere month reflected in her face. She was paler than before, and from the scattered chance of a meal, thinner. Marian turned towards Lucy, holding some of the brushes and powder cases in her hands in defeat, not knowing what to use first or how. Lucy pointed to the case with the powder, letting some of Marian’s hair fall out from her fingers. She opened the case, and taking the small puff concealed within it, settled it into the powder and looked back on Lucy.

“Everywhere.” She said quickly. Marian powdered her face and keeping her focus on the mirror, powdered her chest. When she looked back at her skin in the light, the powder had brightened it, giving it a peachy glow. Lucy dropped both handfuls of hair and led Marian to the right tools. Stepping to the side, Lucy kneeled beside where Marian sat and dipped one of the brushes into what looked like a slimy cream of red paint. Marian looked away, focusing her attentions on Lucy herself rather than the actual substances she intended for her face. Lucy took hold of Marian’s jaw and took the brush in the other hand. She set the brush on Marian’s lip and brought it across, making a bright red line on her bottom lip. Clearing a stray line with her finger, she continued and completed her top lip, setting down the brush and imploring Marian to see. Marian looked into the mirror, looking back at the reflection of a different woman.

“Wear this.” Lucy said, stepping back from Marian and crossing to her bed. She kneeled down to reach beneath, grunting as she pulled out a thin box from under her bed. “Sir Percival Glyde bought me this dress.”

When Lucy came to her feet, she set the box on her bed and opened the cover. Out came a long burgundy gown. The bodice was trimmed with ornate, black lace with glittering beads and fitted to the waist. The dress overflowed out of the box, layers of material under the skirt making the skirt full and flowing. But from the first glance at the waist, Marian stopped her gaze of enchantment.

“I need a better stay, mine is broken.” Marian said, putting her hand to the spot on her waist where the boning had punctured her. Lucy pushed through the folds of the gown and pulled out a large, heavy black corset. Marian rose from the chair and approached the dress. Suddenly she noticed the sleeves of her shift would show beneath the gown. The corset went high over the waist and would cover her breasts. Marian took the corset from Lucy’s hands and stepped behind the dressing shade. Quickly she unclasped the corset busk and wrapped it around her waist. She shivered slightly, half from the cold and the other from the consciousness of how the corset would squeeze her body. She slipped the shift off, exposing her bare skin to the corset. Marian walked out from behind the shade and held the corset in place. Lucy gathered the strings into her fists.

“Hold your breath.”

Lucy pulled the strings, tightening the corset. Marian knew for sure her seared waist would split from the pressure. But she must do it. Marian ignored the pain, held her breath and bit her tongue. The pain increased with every tug of the strings. She looked at her reflection from afar. The color of her face was blushed, nearly reversing the three weeks she had seen on her face only moments before. The corset pushed her breasts up and displayed them, unashamed. Looking this time, Marian managed a smile, before Lucy tapped her shoulder to catch her attention.

“See if this fits.” Lucy said, holding the heavy dress in her arms and placing it onto the floor, leaving an opening for Marian to step into. She stepped into the dress, feeling as if she had stepped into an ocean tide, the heavy satins rising up upon her like a breaking wave. Marian closed her eyes, slipping the sleeves up her arms. Lucy gasped quietly, seeing the dress in place on Marian’s body. Anxiously she tied the back laces and made a small, elegant knot where the strings ceased.

“Open your eyes.” She whispered, placing her hands on her shoulders, displaying her in front of the mirror. Marian took a deep, constrained breath. She opened her eyes.

 

“ _Marian? Marian, I’ve sold a painting, we can eat tonight!_ ” A voice issued below them. Lucy had set the last pair of pins into Marian’s hair when Marian turned towards the door. She called for Walter, and his reply confirmed that she had indeed heard his voice issue her name. Settled in her place at the vanity, Lucy stood beside her bed, and took one of her coverlets to put over her shoulders. His steps came closer, but further, meaning he crossed to the other hallway and realizing that the sound had not come from that corner, returned to search elsewhere. Marian breathed deeply, trying to run through her words, knowing full well she could speak of her mission and nothing else, if she did not want emotion to overturn her thoughts.

“We are in here, Walter” Lucy said, as Walter passed the room. He entered the room. Marian impulsively avoiding his eyes faced the mirror, but turned to rest her eyes on him when she found breath enough to face him. Her shoulders turned and her body moved elegantly in its place. He looked at Lucy, seeming not to see Marian in the woman sitting at the vanity.

“Where is Marian?” He said firmly. Lucy pointed towards the vanity. Marian followed her impulse to rise. She pulled the skirts and train from behind her and set it beside her, giving him a full view of her new appearance. Walter’s fingers loosened around his portfolio, and upon looking into Marian’s eyes, dropped it to the floor.

“Marian.” He said, hearing the sound of his sketches rustle, breaking his gaze and going to the ground. Marian stepped forward, growing accustomed to the music of her gown as she kneeled to reach for his sketches.

            “I am going to go to Fosco tonight.” She said, forcefully pulling together the sketches and pushing them towards Walter.

“How? You said yourself our plans are useless without his address.”

“I knew it.” Lucy intervened, standing behind the two of them with her arms folded and a graceful smile on her face. “I’m one of Percival’s girls.”

Walter’s eyes shot to Lucy’s. He stared at her, and then returned to Marian, seeming unable to decide which woman deserved more questioning.

Upon getting his sketches back into the portfolio, Walter took Marian by the arms and helped her rise from the floor. Marian tried to pry her arms from his hands, but failed, and looking directly into his eyes, she asked:

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She said, only then managing to get free of his arms and move back to the vanity. She took one of a pair of black gloves and began to fit her hand into it, keeping her quizzical gaze on Walter.

“Nothing” He whispered. “It’s just,” Walter paused. “I’ve never seen you look like this before.”

The manner of his words, the sweet, stunned tone of his voice made Marian’s thoughts crash within themselves. An overwhelming sense of pride came over her, and a vanity she had not felt since standing in front of the mirror in her holiday clothes as a child; telling her mother to look on her every other minute. Marian walked toward the door, adjusting the train behind her to guide it. She took Lucy’s hand and leaned in to kiss her cheek. She whispered something in her ear, making Lucy hold back a look of surprise. Marian left the room. She didn’t want to look behind her. There was no more time to waste. She heard Walter’s footsteps advancing behind her.

“Marian!” He called calmly. Marian turned towards him. There was a curiosity and worry in his eyes. “How are you going to do this?” He said, half inquisitive, half maddened. “What do you plan to do?”

“Don’t look as if you don’t know.” She snapped, finding words she had not rehearsed in her mind. Marian turned away again and as she descended the stairs, continued. _“_ I’m surprised you’ve never thought of seduction _.”_ Marian said, feeling anger creep into her words. The footsteps behind her had ceased. Walter had stopped. Instantly she wanted to take the words back.

“You’re angry with me.” Walter said softly. “I understand. I apologize for upsetting you.” He said calmly. Marian reached the foyer. The sound of her long skirts rustling broke the silence. She turned to face Walter. She was unsure whether or not his words were sincere. For the first time in her life knowing Walter Hartright, she could not trust his words, since they seemed to contradict every one of his actions.

“I forgive you, though in all honesty I know not what forgiveness you ask of me.” She said. Walter stared at her, almost shocked at her reply. Taking a step towards her, and seeming ready to expose the hidden subject, his eyes closed and he held out his hand. 

“Let me come with you?”

Marian stared at Walter again, wanting him to find the words or apologies. But standing there in the hallway, she realized that she did not want to apologize. And neither did he.

Insecure over her next action, Marian laughed, placing her hands onto her waist.

“Of course you can, but you go outside and get me a fly, I am not walking any length of road in this.” Marian said, gesturing to her gown.

“You look beautiful.” Walter replied quickly, taking her gloved hands into his. “Besides I would have told you if you looked disreputable.”

Marian laughed and set off Walter’s balance with a push of her hand. He began to laugh in reply. Just then, Marian saw Lucy come down the stairs with a coat in her arms.   

            “Take this too, Bella said you could have it for tonight.” Lucy said, handing over a short black cape with lace trim. It was worn, but still lavish enough to be presentable.

“Thank you, Lucille, for everything.” Marian said, taking the cape and putting it around her shoulders. She fastened the closures and let the hem fall above her arms, stopping at a point just beneath her waist. Walter came beside Marian and held her arm, guiding her out the door and onto the street, the few jewels left on the cape shining in the fading sunlight of dusk.

 

The carriage stopped. Marian lost her breath, the nervousness taking control of her. She trembled and her heart throbbed within her chest. Marian burst out of the carriage, the sooner the better. She was on Forest Road. Walter followed her. The suburb was dark, gaslights were scarce. The road was planted with trees surrounded by iron gates and adorned with ornate stone walls guarding off the properties. She looked down the road. At the farthest corner was a tall, shapely brick house. She remembered the vivid description Lucy had given her of the house. The house was surrounded by untidy grass and thick, protruding roots from the tall oak trees around the house. There was a brick path leading to the door, and the house surrounded by a simple iron fence with a curved gate. The lamps barely lit the house. But there was a light in a room. It shone dimly from a room on the ground floor, shaded by the lace curtains in the windows. Smoke was coming from one of the chimneys. There was a fire lit in the same room. Marian approached the house, taking steady steps and maintaining her breathing. Walter followed, appearing silent and wary of the new environment surrounding him. Marian turned to Walter, stopping on the pavement.

“This is where we part.” She whispered. Marian took a deep breath, holding Walter’s hand tightly. He took her into his arms. They stood still, holding each other in their nervousness.

“You are sure you don’t want me to confront him?”

“Yes, Walter, do not think this an offense, but you would have no power over him now. I know his weak point, and I plan to use it, I am more prepared now, the time cannot wait.”

Walter kept his hands on her shoulders, putting his cheek against her hair, he replied: “I will stay here.” Walter whispered. “If you need me you must call for me." He pushed her out of his embrace and looked at her. Marian shook the nervousness from her arms, threw back her shoulders and held her head high, taking a deep breath. Without another word, she turned away from Walter and opened the gate. Walter listened to the sound of her shoes tapping on the brick path as she walked. Marian reached the door, where a small enclosure of tall black columns decorated the entrance. There was a light flickering in a fixture above her head. The small chandelier hung from the ceiling by a rusted chain link rope. Marian took a deep breath as she raised her fist. She knocked on the door.


	9. Chapter 9

Marian turned in her place on the chair, putting both arms on the right arm of her chair and turned towards the door, looking out to see if Francis had heard the last word. The Count looked too, curious to Marian’s action of seeking out his servant.

“He was easy to persuade.” Marian said casually. “To acquire his sympathies I gave him the guise that I had come with distressing news.”

“If I recall correctly,” the Count added. “Francis did not need to be persuaded, he knew of you from my words and as soon as he realized it was you, took no hesitation in letting you come to me.”

The Count let his memory come back to him, and in the place of her green silk dress, reproduced the gown she had worn. Seeing her silhouette in the chair he watched his living memory of Marian rise from the chair, remove the gloves from her ivory fingers and pull them across her waist. Catching his gaze of fancy, Marian pushed her chair back, letting it scratch against the carpet, making a gruff noise to wake him.

Gathering his attentions again, the Count lifted his glass of wine from the sill and put it to his lips, taking a sip, he noticed that Marian looked at the glass with a hint of longing, but refused to accept a portion herself.

“I am surprised you do not recognize the wine.”

“I expected as much.” She replied. “You wanted it just as it was, is that not so?”

“A wonderful year,” The Count said, letting the last few drops of his portion onto his tongue continue to his throat, setting the glass back on the sill. “Surely you will not be too proper as to deny an old man one of his few pleasures.”

“Had I the power, I would, I remember that the wine was quite delicious, and if you think the wine was the influence in my actions, you would be mistaken.” Marian said, setting her hands on her lap and lying forward, resting the back of her neck on the chair. “But I’ll not take any chances this time.”

“What risks, Marian?” The Count said, looking at the empty glass on the table.

“The last wine I tried made me violently ill.” Marian said frankly, “I’m afraid this one doesn’t like Bordeaux.” Marian said, putting a hand on her waist. Taking a moment to analyze her words, he stared at Marian a while longer. Pausing, and letting the reply flash across his eyes before he spoke, the Count felt a distant emotion course through him. Jealousy came to him, and made his glance upon Marian change. She sensed it immediately, and smiling in victory, and setting her weight in the chair again, Marian put both hands on her waist and held them there.

“Do not be so quick, Count, after all we have been married three years now, and this is the first.” Marian said, leaning forward and turning her waist, letting a sound escape from the release of tension in her back. “Though do let me delight in your jealousy of an average barrister.”

“He by no means seems average, Marian; your finery is no clothing of a pauper’s wife.”

“And I can only imagine what splendors _you_ could have lavished upon me!” Marian said, sitting up properly and putting her hands into her hair, fixing one or two of the pins holding her coiffure. The Count was stung by her sarcasm, and at the same time, his resentment of her light treatment of his sensitivities lit his fighting spirit ablaze, challenging his need to produce effective repartee. He could not find reply to her words, and in many ways, he could not muster to courage to continue on such a subject. It had been his weak point, the Count thought, and he could no longer allow Marian indulgence in his without savoring a taste of hers.

“So the careless but lusty actions of the drawing master primed you for me, did it?”

Instantly the Count was at the receiving end of Marian’s eyes. Her lips pointed and her hands dropped carelessly onto the table. 

“If you think you could ever compare _yourself_ with Walter Hartright-

“I can, can I not?” The Count continued, sitting forward and leaning his weight onto his cane. “You said yourself that you see woman equal to a man. It appears to me that you are equal in whole of using that Mr. Hartright as he did you. And did you not use me merely as a tool? I saw it that very night and I still see it now.” The Count concluded, looking at Marian. She had risen from her retreated chair and stood pacing across his room, like the tigress she had been earlier that morning. He knew now that he had his prized and sought after stag in position to fire.

“Validation to your need and purpose to life, anything to keep you from avoiding what was truly to come, that you would be _alone_. Left to your own devices, with no one to care for you or take care of.” The Count said, firmly, taking back his injured pride.

Marian turned from the Count’s gaze. The Count felt his heart sink into his stomach, angered again by his calculated, but still wholly ruthless nature in warfare. Continually, with Marian Halcombe and no other woman, her willingness to engage his wits and powers would empty his thoughts of his love, his care and devotion to her. The Count would forget that sometimes his skills of talking to a woman would betray him, and getting at the core of a woman’s thoughts, as he was able to do with Marian, could set her defenses _en garde_.      

 

_“Let us resume our tête-à-tête!” The Count said, gaily walking back towards his Marian and steadily reaching an arm around her waist, putting his now cleanly shaven cheek against hers. Within an instant, his lips possessed hers. Letting his large fingers toy with the beads across the back of her dress, the Count let his left hand hold Marian’s hair, maintaining control on her movements should she suddenly find remorse and withdraw. Between the sweet music of her breath making sighs in her throat, the Count heard something else. A strange, underlying rustling. Ignoring it first, distracted by the sampling of Marian’s tongue, he resumed. When he moved to press her body closer to him, she broke from his lips and allowed a large breath to fill her lungs. The rustling returned, and he held Marian away._

_“What was that?” He whispered. His voice verged on an edgy suspicion; suddenly wary that perhaps it was abnormal._

_“Nothing, it’s just my stays.” Marian said quickly. “You’re making me short of breath, darling.”_

_“Oh ho,” The Count chuckled. “Than perhaps when you’ve fainted I will have satisfied you?” The Count said. Marian laughed. The Count turned her back into his embrace and resumed his consumption of her. The Count walked back, as if he wanted to dance with her as they kissed. Lifting her bodily into his chest, he laid his cheek against the bare skin of her collarbone. He stopped. The Count’s chin hovered over her breasts; his eyes had spotted something shining beneath the table. He brought Marian back to standing. She stood, stunned and afraid. She wiped her breast and her lips with the back of her hand. Marian stared. The Count was standing still, his eyes kept fixed on a silver case that was not in a place the Count recalled. With a sudden gesture, the Count lowered himself, squatting to support his weight as he lifted the case from the floor._

_“What’s wrong?” She said._

_The false smile which came over Marian’s face was smothered by the Count’s wicked glare. He smashed the case onto the table, which startled Marian’s nerves causing her to leap back. Momentarily he saw the breath pull from Marian’s lungs, a lightness coming over her mind. Taking advantage, the Count rushed over to her. He pulled her towards him, pressing against her waist forcefully. Marian squeezed his arms, digging her fingernails into his banyan. On getting her arms to break their hold, the Count swung her quickly and caught her across the waist, her arms unable to move as the Count plunged his hand into her dress. Marian cried out._

_“No!” She pulled at his arms, shifting her shoulders to pull her weight from his grasp. The Count let his fingers dig under the cavities between her breasts and her corset. As he felt the paper stashed between them, and extracted it, he pitched Marian to the ground, hearing her cry out the name of the drawing master no doubt watching at the window. Marian fell, her gown billowing with air as she landed. She lay by his feet, breathing heavily and putting both hands across her collarbone. The Count unraveled the document and stretched it back to legibility._

_“Please let me go.” Marian cried, tears beginning to drop from her eyes and desperation seeping into her voice. “Please!” She repeated, groping the floor. Marian buried her face into her hands. Crossing with the document in his hands, the Count stood firm at the door, staring down at the pitiful creature on the ground as if he were a cat, and a small, dying mouse lay before him._

_“No more games.” The Count said. “But may I say a word before I let you pass through this door-_

_Marian raised her head from the floor. She placed her hands onto her face, crying in a way which stretched her face to looks the Count had never beheld, thinking her displays of grief unbecoming to her natural and still undisturbed tone of loveliness. The Count’s gaze was relentless, seeing fear in the eyes of his beloved for the first time in their acquaintance._

 

The Count kept his gaze, recalling again when his prized catch was trapped in the moment where he had indeed, fired and killed.

The Count continued, letting the memory complete:

 

_“When I think of the life I could have given you, Marian,” He paused, letting the document drop from his hand and land near Marian’s face. “It makes me grieve for the terrible misuse of such a miraculous gift of nature. Yes, you, not your pretty weakling sister, but you. Your life, your future, even if you do, as you say, avenge your sister’s life, you will have no purpose.”_

_The Count caught his words as Marian burst into tears, letting her head fall into her hands as she sat on the floor. But the shields were down, and the Count no longer mindful or caring of her sensitivities continued on, relentlessly._

_“I will let that mistake be yours, I still have such unrestrained possibilities. But you? What will you do? Go to that drawing master? Bah!” The Count laughed, again pausing to stare back at Marian, who had uncovered her face and gave him such a long, focused and penetrating gaze harboring all of the anger and frustrations she undoubtedly had lived with into his eyes._

_“That youth will love you of pity and nothing more. If he finds love for you at all, and not a simple desire of you as a partner to his indulgence of sentimentality. Used, and unappreciated, that will be his legacy upon you should you pursue that petty youth. What than, Miss Halcombe-_

_The Count stopped, holding his hand against his heart, sentiment suddenly manifesting in tears that started at the corners of his eyes. Determined not to display his fragility, which had rarely found reason for appearance, the Count let the words leave his thoughts. Slowly, and without a thought of belligerence, the Count walked towards Marian and held out his hand. She took it, slowly, with her other hand on the ground pushing her skirts away from her feet. Curls of her hair fell from her coiffure as she turned from the Count’s gaze, looking back at the pair of gloves on the table. The Count remained in his place, waiting for Marian to cross his path again as she approached the door. Putting both gloves into her hands she set her eyes back onto him. Words came to the Count, and adopting his warrior methods again, he spoke:_

_“I win this game.” The Count whispered. “You drew the Old Maid.”_

 

Marian opened the door and crossed to the chair into Lucy’s room, finishing the last question Walter had put to her. He followed, closing the door behind him as Marian settled at the vanity table. She looked into the mirror, the makeup around her eyes making faded lines down her face. Desperate to alleviate her weakness she pressed her fingers into her cheeks, hoping to rub the stains from them. Walter came up behind her, and put his hands onto her shoulders where she sat.

“You are not telling me everything.” Walter said softly, letting one hand stray further down her shoulder and remain just above her breast. “There is something else on your mind. Do not spare me from your troubles, Marian.”

Walter continued the last reply placing another hand onto her face, and pulling the stray hair from in front of her eyes behind her ear. Marian focused her attentions to her lap, where her hands were folded around the edges of her cape. Before allowing Marian a full minute to pause, Walter’s hand moved to the closure of her cape, a hook across her neck, and unfastened it. He pulled it off of her shoulders and folded it onto his arms before crossing to lay it on the vanity. Marian let her words process, weighing her option of speaking of the last minutes with Fosco, or continue on, regarding his revelation of her fear with the same forthrightness Walter had grown accustomed to. Marian chose to stand, and slowly begin to pry the gloves off of her hands, roughly pulling each finger before letting it fold down her arms as she cast it off. She remained silent as Walter returned to her side.

“Perhaps in time you will be able to say. I should not expect such immediate reply.” Walter said, casually, standing beside Marian. She turned to him, letting her eyes rest on his face. Without pause, he lifted his hand and moved to turn Marian, placing his hand onto her shoulder and making a gesture for her to turn Marian accepted, finding that avoiding his gaze helped her to find security. Marian put her hands onto her skirt, pressing the silks under her hands as she heard the sound of the ties escaping the grommets as Walter removed the string. Reaching the top, the dress split across Marian’s shoulders and started to fall, setting at a place where Marian’s arms could hold it. Walter paused, setting the string down onto the vanity beside the gloves. Returning, he caught Marian’s gaze reflected in the mirror.

“You are quite remarkable.” He whispered gently, seeming mesmerized by her reflection. Marian closed her eyes, lowering her head to avoid his gaze, even in the mirror, all the while hearing Fosco’s lavish compliments again in her head. Seeing no reply by Walter, she kept her place behind the chair, not giving any action or word of reply until she felt Walter begin to untie the lacing of her corset.

“You have been a great help to me, Walter.” She managed to say, whispering as the ties of her corset loosened and freed her lungs to breathe. “We know where we must go now.”

“To Cumberland, the asylum, of course.” Walter said, continuing with the final two holes and pulling the strings loose. The corset released Marian and stayed in its place under the dress, beginning to slide down her hips, revealing her white skin in the grayish light. Marian heard Walter intake a breath, and the next moment, felt his fingertips against the small of her back, moving towards the front, where his palm stroked the side of her ribcage, his thumb making circles.

“What sins women commit to their bodies.” Walter whispered, barely audible to Marian’s ears. She only then realized the cause of his distress, thinking without a need to look that the corset had made long red lines of welts down her back and waist. The night air seeped into her dress, and caused bumps to rise on her skin, and heat return as she felt Walter’s other hand explore her. She was so occupied in her thoughts, so transfixed by her reflection in the mirror; she could do nothing save close her eyes and let her head fall back and rest on his shoulder. Marian lifted her hands and set them into a long curl of hair that had escaped its pin, and moved to remove the pins from her hair, taking comfort in Walter’s hands on her waist where the band of muslin ended. Marian grew cold, and no longer finding necessity in Walter’s touch she pulled away, moving towards the end of the bed and letting the gown fall down her arms, letting Walter silently observe as she quickly allowed the dress to fall, whilst holding the corset against her breasts. Looking onto the bed, Marian found her dress and old shift there, where Lucy had left it, and stepping out of the dress at her ankles, let the corset fall as she reached for her shift. Walter remained standing, watching silently and without speaking. Marian walked from the bed to dressing shade in the corner, her breasts and wrapped waist exposed only for a moment as she walked behind the shade. When behind, she heard Walter’s footsteps approach the other end. He stood on the other side, and Marian started when she heard his hand tapping against the shade, in a nervous rhythm. She looked down to see her waist had bled again, and had dried within the muslin band. Marian attempted to move the fabric, but the tingling warning of pain made her think again. She pulled her shift over her arms and pushed it beneath the waist of her petticoat, and started at her hair. She heard the rustling of the silk dress, meaning that Walter must have lifted it from the floor where she left it. When Marian returned from behind the shade, Walter stepped towards her, reaching out to hold her arm. He pulled her hand to his lips and held it in both hands, looking at her face as he put her hand to his chest.

“Walter, forgive me.” Marian said quickly, moving to pull from his hands and move to the bed. “I am not sure of anything I do. Every vestige of modesty has abandoned me in these weeks.”

Walter stood still, watching as Marian stood beside the bed and let her hair fall out of the pins, laying each one in a sinus of the coverlet. Stepping closer to Marian, Walter took the pins she had collected on the bed and took them in his large hand.

“Do not dwell on it, Marian. I understand.”

“Do you?” She replied quickly. “Do you not think less of me?” Marian whispered, feeling her long curls fall across her back and her neck, the sensation before tears tremble behind her cheeks.

“On the contrary,” Walter paused, stepping closer to her and taking the pin from her hand, “My admiration has only…” He stopped, caught as Marian gazed long into his eyes and felt his hand reach across to touch her. The next moment, Walter dropped his hand and let the pins fall to the ground, stepping back from Marian and turning towards the mirror, putting a hand to his head.

“I apologize Marian, I never meant to put you in this position.” Walter said, sitting down in the chair, facing Marian as she approached him. Lowering his head, Marian reached for his shoulders, settling her knees on the ground to meet his gaze when he looked up. She put her hands onto his face, pulling his head up and forcing their eyes to meet before speaking.

“You are not alone,” She said, leaning forward and letting her cheek rest against his. “Who among us can recognize this world we live in now?” She whispered, “And who can say what lies ahead for us.” Marian continued delicately, trying not to allow the Count’s words to roll off of her tongue. 

“You have not hurt me.” She whispered, taking a breath when she felt Walter move forward on his chair to meet her. He stared long into her eyes before pulling her face to his. Marian accepted, only than letting her mind abandon her thoughts, and focus solely on his comfort. 

_You will have no purpose. What a grievous misuse of a miracle of nature. No Laura, no life. No one to take care of, or to care for you._

Walter grasped her tightly in his arms and lifted her towards him as he laid a long kiss on her lips. The next moment Marian rose from the floor, dropping Walter’s hands and moving to lie on the bed. Walter, checking himself and looking with wonder, pulled his coat off of his shoulders and laid it on the floor. Marian closed her eyes as she propelled her weight onto the bed, with her hair falling over the bedside. Walter, on removing his boots, stood up and watched as Marian crawled towards the head of the bed, careless of the camisole that had begun to fall down her arms. Her body rippled across the blankets and her eyes met his. Marian closed her eyes and held her breath. Walter stood at the edge of the bed, staring at her. Turning away he sat and buried his head in his hands.

"Marian, we should not, this, we can't. I don't know what to do." He said. Marian kneeled behind him and put her hands onto his shoulders. She let the tears, which she had tried so long from escaping, leave her eyes. Finally, she was able to react to the Count's prophecy, and unable to stop from restraining her words, laid bare every fear that had manifested in her: 

"Don't leave me alone." She said, pulling Walter to her, feeling her arms wrap across his chest, holding him to her. A sob broke the air. "Never again, I will never ask you again as long as I live, I promise. Only say that you won't go from my sight tonight."

Marian loosened her embrace, waiting and watching. With a turn, Walter approached. Meeting her eyes, his gaze swelling with a newfound tenderness and hesitation, Walter kissed her and made circles across her back with his hands. Marian pulled him by his sleeves as she shifted her weight to fall back onto the bed. Shutting out all other thoughts, Marian pushed him over, forcing him onto his side. She closed her eyes, forcing her mind to open itself to all of the thoughts and dreams she had restrained from the moment Walter Hartright’s eyes had met hers. The moment she saw his face, heard the sound of her own heartbeat pound when his hand reached out to shake hers; the familiar gesture she had made her entire life but none as exciting and none that had ever caused her blood to rush to her face. Marian saw sentences flash into her eyes, passages and words from books no woman in her position should ever have read, and at an age where her mind rejected the boys who had bullied her plain features but her body thought otherwise even if only for a fleeting instant. Marian opened her eyes, Walter was still there; staring into her face and pulling her body against his. Only now she could see what she had only dreamt would reflect in the eyes of the man she had been so bold as to love: desire.

Marian kissed him, stronger and more ardently than she had ever known herself capable of. Walter returned every kiss with twice the vigor and before she was able to concentrate on her next action her heart began to flutter with the same thrill she had felt before. Walter had pulled the chemise out from underneath the waist of her petticoat and laid his lips on her stomach. Marian reacted in ways her mind couldn’t reason, her toes stretched apart and her back began to arch. But against her modesty, which in her mind had fled days ago, Marian accommodated him by spreading her legs apart and pulling at her petticoat to settle him between them. His lips disappeared from her skin, and with her eyes closed she anticipated wherever they would land with shallow breaths. Suddenly his face was by her side again, but his hand was stroking the inside of her thigh, teasing her it seemed until it settled where she wanted it most. Marian had no breath left to utter a sound and pressed his hand to her as everything around her grew hazy. His beautiful hand mimicked the motion of his brushstroke with his fingers across her skin. Marian let the tide of sensations roll across her body, no longer shocked or curious of their power or presence, knowingly shifting her hips when she felt them increase. Pushing herself up, she freed her arm and pulled Walter down to her, nearly whimpering as she struggled to try and pull his trousers off of his legs. He complied, without hesitation and ran his lips up the side of her neck as he prepared himself. Marian pulled him closer to her with every movement when she felt him enter her again. Her hands searched the curves of his back, feeling his hand uncover the edge of her shift and find her warm flesh beneath. Marian closed her eyes, feeling her hips cradling Walter’s weight against her as one hand reached for the foot post to keep her steady. Marian put her hands onto Walter’s face, her head lying back as she sorted through the strands of his hair like a seamstress with her hand buried in a basket of threads.

In a flash of light behind in her eyes, and a push so hard she felt her hair fall over the edge of the bed, Marian screamed. Walter pulled her head against his chest, a long hush leaving his lips as he continued, relentless. Her hands settled on the bed and a smile broke across her face. Marian’s eyes opened, and in her shock Walter paused, staring at Marian as he quickly uttered his next action, an expression of joy on his face she had never beheld on a human being.

“Marian I am-

“Yes.” She said quickly, locking her arms across his back, holding him towards her.

“But let me-

“Don’t.” Marian uttered again, setting her arms tighter and gripping the skin on his back, his face tensing from her clutches. She breathed heavily, tightened her legs around his to keep him there. Walter closed his eyes, letting the sensation escape him with a breathless groan, and his arms slackened as he fell onto Marian’s breasts. He lay atop her, merely breathing. Marian held his head to her breast and let her knees bend to rest on the bed, feeling as though her body still reeled from the momentum as it would after enduring a storm at sea, or the times when she would swim off the beach in France, far from the other children, and let herself float atop the waves staring up into the clouded sky. Walter hid his face. Marian pulled him out, looking at him clearly and letting her eyes assure him. He leaned over her left side and broke from her, struggling with his weight to move towards the head of the bed. Walter let his head fall back onto the pillow. Marian pushed herself up and took the place beside him and as she turned over, laid her hand across his chest,

Marian tried to speak, but finding no adequate words, she closed her eyes, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders and a shift in her world change the view around her. Forgetting about the rotted ceilings, or the tattered curtains, or even the shabby, stiff bed beneath them Marian curled around the warm mass lying beside her, ready to sacrifice anything if only to stay in the very place she was forever. Feeling his hand reach over and touch her shoulder, Marian slowed her breathing, settled her head beside his and released a long sigh into the air before lending her body over to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

When she gazed out the window of the train, Marian saw that the sky was clouded and overcast by the time they reached Cumberland. Marian took her bags and woke Walter. The train had come to a stop. He rose from his seat and took hold of the chair to keep his balance. His hair fell in front of his eyes. Walter took his books and belongings in his hands and guided Marian to the front of the cart. The air was brisk, clean and clear compared to the London air. They were back in the country. Walter left the cart and turned to help Marian. He held her under her arms and guided her from the cart to the ground. She thanked him. Walter stood silent as Marian walked forward and felt a rush of air at her legs; steam from the train spewed onto her dress. She stood back and waited as Walter assembled his things, to be sure everything was in place. Marian took his arm and followed Walter into the station. Marian’s eyes fell onto the familiar neighbors of her countryside paradise. They did not acknowledge her; nor was she even aware if anyone had recognized her. The women were less tensed, less encumbered by the weight of anxieties which hung about the women around the brothel. She was home, or at least home to her childhood memories. Trees were in view. Marian smiled faintly, relieved at the sight of tall, noble trees in the places of drunks and taverns. Limmeridge was not far. Walter took hold of Marian’s hand as they left the station compound and onto the dirt road. She smiled fully.

“We’ll try this road first.” Walter said, pointing down the road towards the right. “We should not separate.” Walter continued. He smiled brightly. Marian followed.

The road was clear, soft dirt along the way shaded by large trees on both sides. The air was so crisp, refreshing in Marian’s nostrils. The sun barely peeked through the clouds and occasionally shone through the trees, setting beautiful shadows onto the path. Birds sang in the morning light. As they walked, Marian kept her hand safely in Walters. Whenever she caught his expression, Marian observed his mood. He looked happy. Marian smiled, not saying a word. Marian lowered her head, keeping her eyes on the dirt path beneath her feet as they walked. Marian looked down, only than seeing the small buds that had fallen from the trees and the tiny chutes of grass beginning to grow. Walter eyes caught something, a change in the road. There was a large brick gate coming up. Hidden by the thickness of the brush and the trees, an iron gate stood. The rails were high, unusually high for an ornamental gate. Marian walked toward the fence; she pushed the twigs and branches out of her way to reach the fence and peered through the rails. There were nurses. Along the green, fertile grass were benches and high bushes leading to walkways. It was Eden. Marian turned away and continued down the road, taking Walter’s hand.

“This must be it. We don’t have much longer to walk.” She said, quickening her pace, almost running toward the end of the fence. Her dress swayed with her movements and her shawl dropped from her arms. Walter stopped, lifted her shawl from the dirt and brushed it off. Marian continued to run, her mind racing with thoughts. Her hair bounced on her shoulders and trickled down her back. Marian came to a stop. Walter approached, running towards her quickly. Marian was staring at the gate. Walter stood beside her, their breath quick and uneasy. There was a sign of metal on the gate. The sign read Eden Asylum. Marian put her hands onto her face and lowered to her knees. The anticipation overwhelmed her. Walter went to his knees with her. He pulled her hands away from her face. She was pale. Walter took her into his arms.

“It’s alright. Don’t be frightened, Sir Percival is in the city-

“It’s not that.” Marian said quickly. “It is what will come after that frightens me.”

“What do you mean?” Walter said, taking hold of her hands.

“What if Glyde wins? What if we _can’t_ stop him? What if we can’t prove it?” Marian said, her voice trembling with fear. Walter looked into her eyes. “Then everything turns to dust.” Marian looked towards the dirt, than in a moment, placed her hand onto her waist and looked back towards Walter.

“Marian.” He whispered, holding her cheek within his hand. “Don’t be frightened. We will find a way, like we promised. Nothing will ever be in vain.”

            Marian held her breath, feeling an unutterable fear as she stared at the asylum gate. The resolution of her future depended on Anne Catherick. The iron gates were rusted. Walter rose from his knees and reached his hand out to Marian. She took a moment, slow to rise from the pain and twists in her stomach. She could not tell whether she was afflicted by fear, hunger or merely her severed waist. She rose from her knees, taking hold of Walter’s hand. Marian stood still, gathering her thoughts. Walter pulled the chain which rung the bell. The bell was deep and echoed in her ears. Marian trembled as she walked closer to the gate. Walter put his hand around her shoulder. The door opened. A woman with a tight kerchief around her hair answered the door. She was a tall, frightening looking woman with strong features and intense blue eyes.

“Yes, what’s your business here?” She said smartly. This was no Eden.

“We are representatives of Sir Percival Glyde. We’re here to inquire about Anne Catherick.” Walter said clearly. Marian nodded, trying not to seem intimidated by the woman.

“Very well, come this way.” The woman said, pushing open the door. Walter led the way for Marian. She walked into the gated Asylum and looked around her. The large mansion surrounded on all sides by green grass and tall trees. The manor was built in a later period, with large archways and cumbersome stone pillars. The colors were dismal and plain, the color of the raw stone. The woman walked on a pebble path towards the house. Marian and Walter followed. She took his arm. A crow cawed from over her head. The black bird frightened her, flying over their heads and landing onto the grass. The woman opened the door to the manor.

Marian entered, looking up immediately at a large chain link chandelier which hung high above the foyer. Walter held her closer as the woman led them to the bottom of the stairs.

“I’ll see to her.” The woman said. “Wait here.” The woman looked over to the door which led to the garden. She glanced up the stairs before she went to the back door and went outside.

            Marian struggled to maintain her breath. There was an icy, quivering fear residing in her stomach. She gathered her remaining courage wherever she could sense it, in whatever thoughts made her feel more at ease. Success was her thought, she imagined. Marian turned to look at Walter. He stood calmly, but his eyes deceived him. He was nervous too. Marian looked towards Walter, who stood nervously shifting his weight and holding his hand to his mouth. She placed her hand onto her waist, wondering if her previous action should be voiced or if she should take the chance to articulate her thoughts to him. Finding the silence too overwhelming, she pushed the words.

            “Walter,” She whispered. “There’s something I have to tell you…”

            “What is it?” He said, facing her and taking her hand. Marian lost them again, breathlessly tense as she switched the two scenarios in her mind.

            “I should have told you…I’m sorry if I ever forced you to…what I mean to say is that I’ve kept something locked inside for so long; I can’t bear to hold it from you anymore. Especially now, you deserve to know the truth.” Marian took a deep breath. “Walter, I meant to tell you that I accept our new lives. What I must say is that I love-

            “Only one of you.” The matron said, returning through the door.

Marian turned white, the words dropping from her lips. She felt as if a noose had been wrapped around her neck and the precious words which she had so longed to say had hung her. Walter took her hand and put it to his lips.

“Do not delay, Marian.” He whispered. “It’s time.” Walter dropped her hand and walked from her. Her battle was not over yet, deep down she knew another chance would surface itself, even in the time before she knew for sure the consequences of her choice. Marian adjusted her shawl and took the first step towards the woman. The woman led her through the back door and into the garden.

From the front, the property looked bleak and dull, yet the garden which spread across the back was anything but. Though there were no colorful flowers, the bushes were trimmed and arranged in beautiful patterns and textures. There were small paths around sections of shrubberies. Towards the back were tall bush walls, which reminded her of Limmeridge. The sky was still gray. Marian looked up into the clouds for a moment. The woman called to her.

“Catherick.” She said, pointing to a woman sitting on the ground next to a bench. Marian walked towards the woman. They had only barely entered the garden. “You can have five minutes.” She added. The woman walked closer to Marian as she approached to walk past her. She whispered close to her.

“Not that you’ll get much sense from her.” The woman said. “She’s been worse ever since she came back.”

Marian nodded, signaling for the woman to leave. She saw Anne Catherick, or what looked like Anne. Marian walked closer towards her, holding the blanket close. She wanted Walter beside her. Marian felt strange. She walked slowly, as if she were approaching a dangerous creature which was liable to strike. Marian tried to form her words, think of how she would ask Anne to reveal her secret. Anne was hiding her face, turned away from Marian. The color of her hair was softened by a sheer but tattered white shawl around her. Marian walked slowly, still keeping her in view. She was closer than before, only another step before Anne could detect her presence. Marian went to her knees. She held her dress and placed her hand upon her waist as she lowered herself to the grass. The soreness and fear residing her stomach made her tremble, nervous beyond words. Anne did not move. Marian reached out her hand and slowly extended it towards her shoulder. The air became tense, the wind began to blow. Marian heard the crow cawing in the distance. She lightly touched Anne’s shoulder. Anne gasped. Marian flinched.

“Anne?” She whispered. “Anne Catherick?” She said sweetly. Marian withdrew her hand and kept still.

Suddenly her eyes met with Anne’s.

Marian’s felt the color drain from her face. A force within struck fiercely at her heart, turning away every fathom of reasoning she had learned. She turned away harshly, covering her face. Voices in her head began to scream. She became dizzy and overwhelmed with a wordless emotion. Marian burst into tears, telling her the vision she had seen was not true. She was so sick with grief and plagued with hunger she distrusted her own thoughts. Marian slowly turned back towards Anne. Anne was breathing heavily, as if on the verge of tears herself, though she did not speak. Marian glanced back at Anne’s face, suddenly addicted to the solemn, gloomy woman before her. But there was something different. The unexpected change made her heart beat furiously and her mind race with confusion. Marian closed her eyes. She fought the words from her lips:

_“Laura?”_

Quickly, Anne turned and pulled the shawl from her face, looking into Marian’s eyes.

_“Marian!”_ Laura screamed.

 

* * *

 

 

Fosco’s breath paused as he saw Marian’s exquisite eyes drop from their gaze onto her lap, the light from the window hitting the left side of her face, leaving the other in the shade of early afternoon. Her head fell heavy into her hands, and she shook her head, making sounds so sweet and sad to the Count’s ears. He kept still, aware that the moment seemed most uninviting for his comment. Marian raised her face, setting her weight back onto the sill. No longer wishing to speak as loudly, susceptible to eavesdropping of Francis, the Count had suggested that Marian sit across from him. Without much of a debate, she complied, and had accustomed herself to the seat across from him, occasionally letting her eyes travel to the street below, behind Fosco’s line of vision.

The Count pictured in his mind the last time his eyes had been on Lady Glyde. She was half unconscious, strewn across the foot of her bed by his quick and deliberate exposure to his salts. Laced with a special ingredient, one inhale and she was quick to fall. It was no trouble thereafter to send for Percival to garb her in Anne’s clothing. Percival was hopeless however, having no knowledge of the sequence of clothing in relation to their outward appearance, clumsily laying her down with her face in the blankets as he laced her corset. It took all the control Fosco could muster not to push aside his frenzied accomplice and complete the task alone. And here, the Count had first marveled at the amazing likeness of Lady Glyde with that of the sad creature they had found out on the grounds earlier that evening, crying to the hunting party that her secret of Sir Percival's past would destroy him forever before Fosco was forced to shove the sedative into her arm.

“I had predicted to Sir Percival in my letter of reply that it would not be long before you sought the Catherick girl in the asylum.”

The Count cleared his throat, seeing that Marian took no notice of his words. The Count pressed his cane into the ground, keeping his focus on her. She raised her eyes and looked into Fosco’s. The Count grinned at her gaze, full of intent and simultaneous distrust.

“What did you do to her?” Marian said, still holding fast to the armed rinzu coat in her lap.

“I did nothing, my dear.” Fosco said calmly, “I did everything I could to _save_ the girl, but her condition was such that she was beyond any remedy I could produce.”

“You liar.” Marian whispered. “Tell me the truth. I have been blunt with you of my decisions, I expect you to sate my curiosity with the same.” 

The Count paused, letting the thoughts settle and arrange themselves in his mind. He caught eyes with Marian again, the sun trapped behind a drifting cloud which set a depth to her eyes and her face, settling them lastly on the lines surrounding her lips.

“I implored Percival not to take any violent action against the girl, but he could not be stopped.”

The Count paused to allow Marian time to recover, seeing tears form at her eyes from his last words.

“You are just in assuming Percival had killed Anne Catherick. After I left the library to seek you out, I returned to where Anne was held in the servant’s quarters, and saw that Percival had broken her neck.” The Count paused, letting the contempt for the hasty actions cross his face. “All he could say was that she would make a match for Laura, there were no outward wounds.”

Marian rose from her place by the window, letting the coat drop to the floor as she distanced from the Count. The Count heard the sound of the pistol strike the ground through the fabrics as Marian covered her face. Within the same instant her eyes had deceived her fortitude; Marian forcefully wiped them with the lace edging of her sleeve. The Count shifted his weight, with one large hand going to his cheek to scratch beneath his eye.

“He left me no choice. In other circumstances I would have been only too grateful to keep the Catherick girl alive, since her secret, as you say, did not seem so cataclysmic should Percival have the brains enough to leave England. But seeing as his debts bound him to that soil, he acted without thinking, which we are all aware, seemed his natural gift.”

The Count stood from his seat, and leaning his weight onto the cane and bending his knees, reached for Marian’s coat. Hearing the rustle of fabric behind her, Marian turned to face the Count. The Count’s heart matched his swift movement by quickening. He held out the coat to Marian.

“Now, to the point, how did it come to pass that my lamented friend met his end? Spare me no modesty, even in the case of your admission of responsibility.”

“You will be surprised- Marian paused, finding her normal breath again. “When I repeat your words, _I did nothing_.”


	11. Chapter 11

Marian watched as Walter, wiping the blood from his lip onto his sleeve, ran towards the dark cavernous tunnel leading down the train tracks in pursuit of Percival Glyde. He, despite being confronted by a disguised Laura and numerous neighbors, servants of Limmeridge, turned away and ran once freed from Walter's grip. Dim light from the office of the train operator and signalman caught the corner of Walter's eyes as he left the light into the shadows of the tunnel. Marian pursued, stepping off of the platform with Laura at her feet and tearing a hole in the hem of her dress, caught on a nail as she stepped away. She saw nothing else, cared of nothing else but the now absent visage of Walter. As she crossed the track, her heel clicking the rail, she found the station signal man standing on the grass outside the entrance. Laura's arms caught Marian's shoulders and from the sudden opposition, Marian stopped and pulled Laura beside her. She heard a call sound from the signal man behind her, and in the next instant, lights entered the opposite end of the tunnel, and the blaring sound of the train's horn filled the expanse of the hollowed tunnel and echoed out onto the grounds. Laura screamed.

            Marian, momentarily mesmerized by the glaring lights stared forward, catching the shadow of a man's leg as he propelled himself to the wall, then another following after but gone in the next instant. Marian, hearing the rolling wheels and gears of the engine screech thrust her onto the ground, pushing Laura beneath her and pulling her legs up. Marian, upon landing, closed her eyes and let her hands sink into the earth, gripping the grass roots in her fingernails as a roar enveloped her body and the earth shook beneath them. Laura continued screaming, but so great was the howl of the train engine and siren her cries soon faded. Air rushing from the force of the engine's carts as it exited the tunnel blew the hair off of Marian's face and opening her eyes, Marian saw pebbles from the base spring up between the wheels. Dust surrounded the rails and blocked the light from inside the passenger cars. The earth let out a final shake as the last cart emerged from the tunnel, taking with it a rush of air so powerful it turned Marian onto her side and pulled her arm from Laura to land on the ground against a stone. Marian paused, coughing the dust from her throat and pulling her weight away from Laura, whose hands were over her face and her knees curled up beneath her white skirts. She screamed Walter's name. Marian, finding her chance and responding to Laura's sudden strength to rise, found her footing and set her feet in motion towards the entrance of the tunnel catching up with Laura and altogether passing her before they reached where the signal man had stood, against the front wall with his lantern at his feet. Marian heard more footsteps follow behind Laura's, one by one the servants and villagers she and Walter had rallied had come to their feet. Marian took the lantern off of the ground and set out into the tunnel.

As she ran, she saw a clean streak of red along the silver glow of the rail.

            "Walter!" She cried, holding the lantern high above her head in her right hand, the force of her extension breaking another button on her bodice, and the speed of her body against the wind pulling the sides apart to reveal her chemise in the golden light. A thunder of footsteps accompanied her, and in the corners of her eyes she saw the forms of the men from the village come beside her, still wielding what ever object or form of restraint to use against Sir Percival in the event of his assault. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and in the next moment, she shrieked when a man entered the circle of her lantern. Walter stepped into the light, his face bloodied from deep scratches on his cheeks and the thin gash on his lower lip. The forearms of his blouse were torn and large cuts adorned his elbows and fingers. Marian lowered the lantern to her waist as Walter fell to his knees.   
            "Do not look on him." Walter whispered. Marian, instantly rebellious of her command, passed Walter and set the lantern ahead of her, four paces from Walter her eyes discovered a shoe, with a foot, but certainly far from a whole leg. Marian kept the lantern steady as her other hand rushed to her mouth, a surge of vomit rising in her throat. Against her will to stop, she coughed the liquid out of her lips to the ground beside her. Hearing Laura's frantic calls, she turned around and saw the silhouette of her white clothed form entering the tunnel pushing aside the servants and villagers as she made her way to Walter. Walter was still in the edges of her circle of light reflecting from the rounded ceiling. Seeing those from Limmeridge help Walter to his feet, two other men approached Marian and taking the lantern from her hands, continued on. Marian turned away, and in the darkness saw the silhouette of those in the tunnel exit into the moonlight. She followed the group, her wrist against her mouth to wipe the remnants of her sickness, as she ran out in pursuit of Laura and Walter.

            When she emerged from the tunnel, trickles of blood from the rail staining the hem of her skirt, she found Walter lying on the grass.  A female servant of Limmeridge was sitting beside him with another lantern she had pulled off of a hook on the outside wall of the signalman's quarters. Flashes of white dazzled the landscape as several of the women pulled up their wool skirts to pull fabric from their petticoats, tearing ruffles and stepping towards Walter to wrap his arms. Marian, inspired, and seeing that Laura had taken to the same task, ran to meet them and sat at Walter's feet. Marian could see now the bruises beginning to form on Walter’s face, his brow beginning to swell.

"Is anything broken, Walter?" She called, amidst the hurried motions and coaxing words of the other women.

            "No." Walter whispered gently, looking towards Marian as Laura put her head onto his chest, crying. "I told him not to...but..." His breath cut off his words.

            "Oh my darling!" Laura cried, putting her hands across him and pulling her face to his lips. Marian remained silent, listening to the sounds of Laura's cries, and staring at her body clothed in Anne's gown. Marian let the thought be entertained that the woman before her was so much in likeness of Anne, it was startling to let the name Laura leave her lips in addressing her. Another light entered the peripheral of Marian's vision, light from the first lantern in the tunnel coming out onto the grounds near the platform. Two men followed the bearer, and in their large hands held the body of Sir Percival Glyde. Not seeing in great detail from the distance, Marian could see a great stain of red across the front of his head, and torn trousers leading to where the dismembered limb had once joined. Letting no time to let Laura's eyes catch the lingering sight, Marian rose to her feet and stepped towards Laura, letting her skirts block where Laura would have chanced caught the corpse of her sinister husband. Several of the women who had aided in dressing Walter's arms took their leave to send for carts outside of the station. With Laura lifted from his chest, Walter slowly rose from the dew kissed grass and looked on the women remaining with him.

            "Oh Laura, you were so brave." Walter whispered, putting a hand on her face to cradle her jaw. "Stop these tears."

            "We're free." Marian whispered, at once trembling and letting a hand settle on the front of her waist.

            "I thought only of my sisters." Laura managed to utter, short breaths breaking her thoughts. "Both of them. What they would have done." Laura said, letting her hands release her weight onto her legs and catch Walter's hands as she sat beside him. Marian closed her eyes, her back hunching forward as a violent sob escaped her throat. Marian focused her attentions on the dirt beneath her hands to avoid their eyes, attempt to distract her mind from the words Laura had used to describe the presence of Glyde's child in Anne's body, knowingly recalling the possibility Marian had chosen for her own fate.

            "Laura, Laura" Walter whispered, tilting his weight on his hips, soothing her tears with all of the care of a father. "Be calm, I am here."

            "Walter will protect you now." Marian said firmly. Walter's eyes rose to meet hers, and seeing Marian, asked with his eyes. She could only nod, before feeling another sob rise from her lungs. The moment passed so quickly, and with no words, that Laura continued. Turning out of Walter's arms, Laura stared upon Marian. Laura let her tears course down her cheek as she raised a hand to meet Marian's face. Laura placed her hand on Marian's face, wiping away Marian's tears with her fingers. Turning back to look towards the tunnel, Marian saw the men place Sir Percival's body onto a passenger blanket, and cover him with another, as they waited for the authorities. Marian rose quickly, pulling Laura's hands away.

            "Care not for my tears, Laura." She whispered, putting her hands into the sleeves of her dress and wiping her face with her arms. "See to Walter."

            "Marian-" Walter called, rising slightly as Marian crossed the rails to the men attending Sir Percival. Marian walked towards the light and carried her skirts as she crossed over the platform and approached the men. Four of them were stationed around him, standing with rushing breaths as they attempted to wipe the blood from their sleeves and waistcoats. Two of them saw her approach, and raising their hands they spoke.

            "Best keep a distance m'am-

            "Is he dead?" Marian responded firmly, letting no hint of pleasure escape her tones.

            "Not just, but more so m'am, if you don't mind me saying." Another man said, "We've sent for the authorities, they'll take him. Are there any particulars about where he is to lie?"

            "Matters not to me." Marian whispered. "Let him rest in a chamber pot." She said coldly. "His hour has come."

The men stared on Marian's face, which she ignored, keeping her eyes on the outline of his head beneath the blanket. In her peripheral vision to the left she saw four officers with their own lights as they approached the body. All four men made a sign of the cross before stepping back. Marian kept both hands firmly to her sides, her absence of sympathy letting Sir Percival Glyde's soul pass into hell without regard.

            She saw his face again, only as he was before taking her beloved sister into marriage. His charm, the curve of his brow when addressing her. His warm but blazing glance as he stared at Marian and Laura together. The sound of his cough, his groans of anger and impatience. Also, the only time in which Glyde had ever touched her, a brief moment during a walk where, to keep her from tripping on a root caught her arm and let his other hand reach across and grab her waist. Too overtaken by everyone else’s compliments for his ready instincts, Marian had no time to process his reaction. It at no point seemed uncomfortable, or odd to her his relationship with her, being the older doting sister forced by attachment to his wife to reside under his own roof; Blackwater Park. He always presented himself well, paid mild compliments when the conversations began, and at one point Marian almost deemed him handsome enough to lend some of her attraction to him. And as events played out, Marian realized that _he_ had seen this, her acceptance of him and his charms. In the months after Laura's marriage, he would look on them both, in a most ungentlemanly manor, licking his lips and chortling before Fosco would strike his arm. It sickened her to think that the man not only had goals of possessing her sister, but herself as well. Marian fell back onto the bench on the platform, resting her weight as she let a breathless laugh leave her lips, thinking back on the men who had disappeared in her life; one in death, the other in cowardice.

            Marian opened her eyes, a feeling of disorientation overcoming her, realizing she could not remember a passage of time. Her vision became hazy, looking up at a man who by appearance resembled Walter. She was then made aware of the slats beneath her head and her back, slats of a bench. Moving her hand to push the hair out of her face she felt a soft fabric against her hand. Marian pulled it aside, looking on it and only then seeing that it was Laura's shawl. Or Anne’s, she should say. Marian could not remember receiving it. Walter took the shawl, which had fallen from her shoulders and placed it back onto her head, letting the rest of the length wrap around her neck. Marian's breath escaped her lips in trembles, her body shivering. Walter rubbed her arms and went to his knees.

            "Come Marian, we can go home now." He whispered. Marian began to feel drops of rain fall onto her shoulders. She looked around; there were no other sounds but the wind and the gentle hum of vibrations in the wires over their heads. The villagers were gone, the signal man returned to his usual post. In the distance across the platform she saw the glimmer of lights from a carriage. It was stationary, awaiting something.

            "Laura is in the carriage, she is safe and secured. The witnesses will follow. We must stay at Limmeridge, and present this evidence to your Uncle first thing tomorrow."

            Marian nodded, moving the shawl away from her face and letting it wrap around her arms, binding them from reaching out to embrace him.

            Walter stepped up and pulled Marian up from the bench, helping her find her footing. As they reached the end of the platform, a swirling vision turned the corner. Marian stopped her footsteps as she blinked her eyes. A woman stood at the entrance of the platform. A woman in white, only in a moment Marian could see the outline of her face, and as her eyes looked, the glow of her skirts. Marian's eyes widened. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as violent spasms of breath choked her speech. Not a moment later, the woman ran from the platform into the woods behind her.

            _"Anne!"_ She cried, dropping Walter's hand and finding strength to run out into the trees to follow. Walter chased her, his heavy footsteps breaking twigs and setting up pebbles from the soil behind him. Walter caught Marian across the shoulders and setting her weight against his forcefully, she lost her footing and her knees fell onto the earth. Looking ahead, towards where the vision had escaped her, Marian cried out, sinking into Walter's arms, seeing the corners of her shawl rise in the air from the wind behind them. 

            _Did you see her? Walter, did you see her!_

"Marian you talk! Come we must get you home!"

            _Anne was here, she was here, Walter we can't leave her!_

            "Come Marian, we must, you're not well," Walter held Marian still as he placed a palm across her forehead. "You're burning, come away!"

            _Anne forgive me, please forgive me Anne!_

Marian sank to the dirt, heavy raindrops now settling in the corners of her eyes.


End file.
